


Serendipity

by ShootingStar7123



Series: The Lady and the Templar [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Darkspawn, F/M, Fifth Blight, POV Second Person, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-08-09 03:48:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16442429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShootingStar7123/pseuds/ShootingStar7123
Summary: You knew as soon as you saw her that she was going to be trouble. Alistair/Cousland, the fifth blight through Alistair's eyes.





	1. Chapter 1

_Maker, though the darkness comes upon me,_

_I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm._

_I shall endure._

_What you have created, no one can tear asunder._

_-Trials 1:10_

 

…

 

When you turn and see her, you immediately make a fool of yourself. It’s not surprising—you’ve always had trouble talking to women, and she is the most beautiful woman you’ve met at Ostagar. Or anywhere, really.

 

You blush as you take in her golden hair and serious gray eyes, but she hardly seems to notice your embarrassment. Only when she asks for your name does it dawn on you.

 

“You’re Duncan’s new recruit, aren’t you?”

 

As she nods your heart sinks. “Elissa Cousland,” she says, and sticks out a hand to shake.

 

You are certain you’ve heard the name Cousland somewhere before, but that isn’t the foremost thing on your mind.

 

You ask her to meet you back at the fire with Duncan, watching as she walks away. Filling up with anger, you have to fight the urge to pull Duncan aside and ask him what the hell he was thinking.

 

It’s not because she’s a woman—you have met female Wardens before and all of them were absolutely fearsome. Nor is it because of her age, though you’re certain Elissa must be younger than you are, or because of her size, though she seems too small to wield the sword and shield she carries.

 

It’s a reason you’re trying not to think about, one you’re ashamed of, because you know full well that it’s wrong for you to feel this way. In spite of a hundred objections to this notion, you can’t stop the question that rises in your mind.

 

How could Duncan bear to taint something so pure and beautiful?

 

…

 

When you reach the fire, an enormous Mabari warhound lies at Duncan’s feet, eyeing you suspiciously as you approach. Before you can make a joke about Duncan’s new best friend, the dog stands and starts to growl.

 

A small figure rushes in from the side. “Down, boy,” Elissa says firmly, pulling gently on the Mabari’s collar. “That’s Alistair, a Grey Warden. He’s friendly.”

 

Her apologetic glance up at you turns into an irritated glare at the surprise on your face. She’s right to be annoyed—you shouldn’t have judged her so hastily. It’s inner strength, after all, that attracts a Mabari to its owner. You look her over with new interest. What other surprises hide behind that fragile exterior?

 

When all three recruits have gathered, Duncan assigns them the usual task of retrieving their vials of darkspawn blood for the Joining. You stop listening once the recruits begin to whine. Courageous lot he picked this time. You’re sure your own group of recruits was never this cowardly.

 

Then Duncan turns to you with a second task, one that is not familiar from your own Joining. When he finishes explaining it, you’re as scared as the recruits are. Not because of darkspawn in the wilds or tales of witches and monsters—because this important task has been entrusted to you, the greenest Grey Warden of the lot. And you can’t bear to let Duncan down.

 

…

 

As you head into the Korcari wilds, you take an appraising look at the recruits. You aren’t shocked by Ser Jory’s obvious fear. He’s not here for intelligence, skill, or bravery—he was chosen for brute force. Daveth is nervous, but seems to have mastered himself for the time being. Then you turn to Elissa, your anomaly. When you try to interpret her expression, the only way you can describe it is blank, as if she sees and hears nothing. And you don’t know what to think of that at all.

 

During your hunt for darkspawn, the men begin to worry and wonder, certain that you will be overwhelmed by darkspawn and killed as soon as you get far enough from camp. Their talk annoys you to the point that you just blurt it out—learning that you can sense the darkspawn is finally enough to shut them up.

 

Your first skirmish isn’t darkspawn but a small pack of wolves. You hang back to watch the recruits fight, wanting to evaluate their abilities for yourself. You are not surprised by Ser Jory’s strength or Daveth’s skills—you’ve seen them spar in camp before—so instead you watch the girl and are amazed by what you see. You had questioned whether she could really use that sword and shield, but now you know that she might give you a run for your money.

 

You shake your head, internally chastising yourself. You shouldn’t be surprised—Duncan would never recruit someone who wasn’t ready for what was to come. That would be cruelty, and while Duncan is sometimes hard, he isn’t cruel. You continue to observe her, entranced by her fluid movements and singular focus, until a thought hits you. This girl is the perfect secret weapon and has no idea.

 

It sickens you a bit when you realize Duncan must have thought so too.

 

…

 

You complete the first task quickly, the vials of darkspawn blood safely wrapped in linen in your pack. The second task proves to be more difficult. You’ve been attempting to make your way towards the tower marked on Duncan’s rudimentary map, killing darkspawn on the way, but the wilds are far from straightforward. You wind your way through them, forced to retrace your steps more than once before you see the ruin in the distance.

 

As you head towards it, Ser Jory and Daveth’s annoying chatter returns. Is it bad that you’re not particularly looking forward to brotherhood with these two?

 

This time, Elissa is the one who shuts them up. A few sharp words earn their silence, and you shoot her a grateful smile which she briefly returns. Solidarity in shared annoyance. It’s the first time you see a hint of a smile on her face, and you desperately want to see it again.

 

When you reach the ruins, the treaties are not where they are supposed to be. You bite back a curse at your ill fortune, and turn to the recruits only to see them staring at something behind you.

 

A witch of the wilds.

 

You’re silenced at the sight of this woman in scraps and feathers, and Elissa suddenly takes the lead. You exchange looks with Daveth and Jory when she has a longer conversation with the witch than she’s had with any of you. _Women!_

 

You’re pretty sure Elissa has no idea how much danger she’s in, but with her eyes so determined, none of you are willing to be more cowardly than she. The four of you follow this witch to meet her mother—who is completely insane, you’re sure—and to retrieve the treaties that the elder witch claims she has protected. Her lack of obvious motivation makes you uneasy. You’re relieved to leave the clearing and head back towards camp.

 

Daveth and Jory are finally quiet on the walk back, perhaps shocked into silence by your encounter with the two witches. But while you’re enjoying the quiet, Elissa falls in step beside you and looks up with those big gray eyes.

 

“What can you tell me about the Joining?” she asks.

 

Even though you guessed this question was coming from at least one of the recruits, you’re still not quite sure how to answer. You haven’t had the practice in dodging this question that the older Wardens have. “It’s supposed to be a secret,” you say, certain that the girl can sense your discomfort.

 

She sighs and looks up at you plaintively. “Is it dangerous?”

 

“Yes,” is all you can manage. You toy with the clasps on your metal bracers, unable to look her in the eye and tell her that she might die.

 

“Just how much danger am I in?” she asks, clearly unnerved by your demeanor. You can’t meet her eyes or you’ll blurt it all out like the fool you are, so you look away, ignoring the question. You just can’t do it.

 

“If I don’t…” she trails off and you finally glance over. Those deep gray eyes are pleading, filled with resignation and a profound sadness. “If anything happens, please see that my hound is well cared for.”

 

You nod despite the lump in your throat. You can’t deny her that.

 

…

 

You had hoped not to attend the Joining, but such luck is not your lot today.

 

The eve of battle is a busy time, but tradition states that no less than two Wardens should be present for the Joining. As the most junior warden, you get the pleasure of putting off your duties until everyone else is sleeping happily in their bedrolls. You complain and are teased by your fellow Wardens, but that isn’t the real reason this bothers you.

 

It was only six months ago that you watched one of your new brothers die, choking on the blood that you would have to drink after him.

 

You try your best to steel yourself, and pray to the Maker that she doesn’t die. A moment later, you reprimand yourself and amend that prayer. No one should have to die like this.

 

It’s supposed to be an honor to speak the words, the words passed down from Warden to Warden. You don’t feel honored. You feel as if you’d rather be anywhere else.

 

_“Join us, brothers and sisters._

_Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant._

_Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn._

_And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten._

_And that one day we shall join you.”_

 

Duncan administers the rite to Daveth first. As he crumbles forward, you hold your breath, unable to tell if he will die. Duncan’s words give you your answer. “I’m sorry, Daveth,” he says, voice heavy with sorrow.

 

You swallow your revulsion and try not to grimace as the man writhes on the ground. You force yourself to look away, studying the other recruits’ reactions instead. Anything to avoid looking at the dying man at your feet. For once, you can’t blame Jory for his expression of terror, and expect a similar look from Elissa. But instead of fear, you see that same blank expression on her face, as if she isn’t here at all. You’re beginning to wonder if she’s right in the head.

 

Jory pulls a sword on Duncan when the chalice is held out to him.

 

In the instant that follows, you feel sick. You know what’s going to happen. You look away before Duncan runs him through, your stomach lurching at the sound.

 

When he turns to Elissa you want, more than anything, to tell her to run. Anything has to be better than this. But it’s too late now for running.

 

You watch in silence, heart in your throat, as she takes the cup and drinks.

 

When she falls to the ground, Duncan says nothing. And that’s when the relief envelops you. She’s going to be all right.

 

…

 

When she wakes up, you finally feel like you can breathe again. You offer a hand to help her up and let go quickly, trying not to think about the way her soft skin made your heart pound.

 

“You are a Grey Warden now,” Duncan says formally, and bids you to give her the Wardens’ pendant.

 

She seems rattled by the experience, so you pipe up. “Did you dream?”

 

At her odd look, you try to explain. “After my joining I had terrible dreams.” You wonder what her dreams were like, thinking of your own. At second thought, you hope she didn’t dream at all.

 

“Such things come as you begin to sense the darkspawn,” Duncan tells her. “Take some time, and meet me at King Cailan’s camp. He’s asked for your attendance at our meeting.” You find it odd that this new recruit would be invited to the war council, but Cailan is a bit strange, so you’ve heard. You’ve never met your half-brother yourself. You try not to feel bitter about it.

 

As Duncan walks away, you realize Elissa is holding her head with both hands “Are you all right?” you ask, then immediately berate yourself for asking a question you already know the answer to—you remember what the Joining is like. If her experience is anything like yours, she’s got a splitting headache.

 

When she tells you she’s fine, you almost roll your eyes. “The headache will be gone by morning,” you promise, and a grateful look crosses her face before she wipes it away.

 

You follow her to lean on a low wall looking out across the wilds. She hasn’t asked you to stay with her, but you feel as if she shouldn’t have to be alone. She’s just gone through a terrible ordeal, and even before the Joining it had been clear that something was weighing on her. You keep your peace, however—every Warden knows better than to ask about another’s past without invitation.

 

“What is that?” she asks, and you aren’t sure at first what she means. “It feels… dark,” she adds in response to your puzzled expression.

 

You feel another flash of anger at Duncan for doing this to her, but you make an effort to push those feelings away. “You’re beginning to sense the darkspawn,” you explain, hating that you have to do this. “The taint in you seeks out the taint in them. It will take a bit of time before you will really be able to understand and use it.”

 

She nods and winces, and you fleetingly wish you could do something to ease that headache. “Can they sense us too?” she asks, her grey eyes on yours for just a moment before she turns to look back out onto the wilds.

 

You sigh. “Unfortunately.” You watch her, lost in thought, thinking she looks even more beautiful in the moonlight. Whatever this is that you’re feeling is getting out of hand far too fast.

 

Even though it’s the last thing you want to do, you have to leave her before you do something you’ll regret. “I need to get back to the Warden camp and prepare, and you should go meet Duncan if you’re ready.”

 

For the second time, she almost smiles at you. “Goodnight, Alistair.”

 

Yes, you are definitely in trouble.

 

…


	2. Chapter 2

You wake disoriented, blinking away sleep as you attempt to place the familiar face hovering above you.

 

It takes a few moments for your memories to return, but when they do, they hit like a warhammer. A tower full of darkspawn that shouldn’t have been there. Lighting a beacon. Arrows sticking out of your chest, a bloom of pain and darkness. And now you are here, staring up from a strange bed at a witch of the wilds.

 

You must be dead or dreaming.

 

Morrigan weaves a tale together of all the terrible things you remember, things you’d hoped weren’t memories. The king and Duncan are dead. The Wardens are dead.

 

You try not to cry. Not in front of the witch.

 

You don’t even remember Elissa immediately. It’s Morrigan who mentions her, and you’re embarrassed first at forgetting about her and then at how glad you are to hear she’s alive. When you are finally allowed out of bed, you ask to see her and are denied. Looking at the witch and her mother, you aren’t sure you believe she’s even here.

 

Your worries are eradicated within an hour’s time. You don’t want to admit how much relief you feel when you see her walking up to you with that enormous warhound of hers following on her heels. And that’s when it really hits you—she’s all you have left. Duncan is gone, you have no king, and the blight is a larger threat than ever. You almost cry in front of her, and you wish the ground would come up and consume you.

 

When Flemeth begins to talk about sending the two of you out to fight the blight together, you can’t help but feel a slight surge of happiness in spite of it all.

 

It’s like a douse of cold water when she wants to send her daughter with you.

 

…

 

You tell Elissa that you can’t be the leader. She assumes it’s because you are distraught over Duncan’s death, and she isn’t entirely wrong. So you let her believe it—the last thing you want her to know is that you fear your feelings for her could compromise your decisions.

 

She seems pleased to take the lead, more comfortable in the role than you could have imagined. The witch, on the other hand, makes constant derogatory comments towards you about your lack of leadership skills, not caring for a moment that you’ve just lost your mentor and friends. Elissa takes up your defense, but Morrigan is hardly deterred from entertaining herself thusly during your journey.

 

Before long, you arrive at the nearest town to supply and prepare. You ask around for news, help out a few scared peasants, and make a few sovereigns doing tasks from the chanter’s board without incident. It’s only once you get to the inn that you realize Loghain is after you. You and Elissa—the two most insignificant Grey Wardens—are being blamed for the death of the king.

 

Elissa agrees to let Loghain’s soldiers live, and for a moment you question her judgment. But when you see the fierceness in her gray eyes and the men cowering before her, you can’t help but be impressed. Hearing her message to Loghain gives you almost as much pleasure as killing them would have.

 

“He’ll have to do better than this,” she says, and it’s the first thing that makes you want to smile since you awoke in the Korcari wilds. When she turns to go, you think you see a hint of a satisfied smile on her lovely face.

 

The chantry sister who begged for their lives turns out to be good with a bow, and she asks to join your quest. You aren’t sure about this vision she claims to have had, but Leliana doesn’t seem like the dangerous kind of crazy. Elissa appears to agree with you, and allows the girl to come along, provided she pulls her weight.

 

You get angry when Elissa wants to take the caged giant with you as well. You ask her if she’s adopting any stray she finds, and she shoots you a glare that sends you reeling. If it came to it, you could overpower her, but you have no desire to go up against that indomitable will. Besides, she’s the only ally you’ve got right now, and you can’t afford to lose her.

 

Resigned, you go along with her decision, hoping that the next person who wants to join your cause is a little more friendly and a little less… murder-y.

 

…

 

You suggest Redcliffe as a starting place, and Elissa agrees without question. You had been prepared to explain your reasoning, and are a bit taken aback by her eagerness. Is she placating you because of your grief over Duncan? Or does she have reasons of her own that she hasn’t shared? With her, it’s impossible to tell.

 

As you approach Redcliffe village, you begin to wish she hadn’t been so eager to agree with you. Not that you were wrong to go to Eamon first—but it seems all too soon to reveal your secret. Truth be told, you were kind of hoping she would never have to know.

 

You debate with yourself and put it off as long as possible, but she needs to know before Arl Eamon gives it away. You don’t want those eyes trained accusingly on you, wondering why you didn’t tell her something that could be so important now that you’ve lost your king.

 

You’ve been dreading this moment since you met. No one ever treats you the same once they learn that you are King Maric’s bastard. They either hate you for it or want to use you, and you wonder sardonically which it will be this time.

 

But you don’t get the reaction you expect. She gets an odd look on her face, one you can’t interpret, and asks you if you can recall her introduction that first day at Ostagar. Of course you do, but you try to pretend that you don’t have every one of your moments together memorized. When you give her a non-committal shrug, she reminds you that she is a Cousland and asks if you know what that means. And with that, it hits you. You finally remember how you know that name.

 

The thought enters your mind of its own volition: If you were Maric’s legitimate son, the two of you would likely be betrothed—the younger son of the king and Teyrn Cousland’s daughter would have been an obvious match. Just as that thought reaches the forefront of your mind, you see a slight blush rise on her cheeks, and you can’t help but smile at the idea that she might be thinking the same thing you are.

 

But that thought disappears in the wake of another. A teyrn’s daughter would be familiar with politics. There’s no way she won’t have her own opinion on how a king’s bastard ought to be treated… or used.

 

She surprises you by taking the news casually, almost as if she hears this kind of admission every day. She even makes a joke about it. If anyone but her were to call you “your highness” they would be flat on the ground before they could laugh at their own joke. Somehow, she is different—there’s nothing snide in her words, nothing derogatory. Not like so many others. When she says it, you almost wish she would say it again, just so you could see that rare trace of laughter in her eyes.

 

That night, you share first watch, each telling your story as you bide the time. For the first time, you don’t feel alone in your losses. When she explains her situation, the loss of home and family in one fell swoop, your blood boils. You want to hunt Arl Howe down and kill him yourself, but the anger in her eyes reminds you that the kill should be her own. She isn’t some damsel in distress for you to save.

 

Some moments you wish she were, because all you want to do is protect this girl from the horrible things of the world. She would probably knock you flat if she heard you say such a thing, but you can’t help feeling this way all the same.

 

When you head to your tent at the end of the shift, your heart aches for her, and you can’t make it stop.

 

…

 

You thought that reaching Redcliffe would be like a homecoming. Instead, it’s like entering a nightmare. As if darkspawn aren’t enough to contend with, you have to defend the city against the undead, some kind of horrible twisted creatures that come in waves from the castle after nightfall. You try not to think too hard about what they are. A blade will stop them; that should be enough.

 

But worry presses in on you despite yourself. If this is what leaves the castle at night, how much worse must it be inside? And then there’s Eamon. Deathly ill inside a castle that must be crawling with those _things_ … the very thought makes your stomach churn. Even though Eamon is the one who sent you away to the Chantry as a child, you have come to believe that he had been trying to do the right thing by you. You may never get the chance to tell him that now.

 

You and Elissa wander around to find anything that might be of use against the monsters that plague the village, and you hope and pray that everything you do is going to be enough. You see creases of worry on Elissa’s face that must mirror your own. If you don’t save Redcliffe and Arl Eamon, how are you ever going to get Loghain out of the way so that you can focus on the real threat?

 

…

 

The night’s battle is long and difficult, but in the morning you are able to finally enter the castle. Unfortunately, what you find there is no comfort. You have a hard time believing that this is the same place you once called home.

 

You never knew Eamon’s son Connor well, but the change in him still horrifies you to the core. Even had he been a stranger, the idea of killing a child, possessed or not, is a terrible one, and blood magic is hardly a better alternative.

 

“We have to get help from the mages’ tower,” you argue, countering what the witch says. To put it simply, you don’t trust either her or that runaway mage Elissa pulled from the dungeons, and when has blood magic solved anything anyways?

 

From a glance, Elissa can tell that it isn’t just the templar in you that makes you disdain the blood magic ritual. You want to save both Isolde and Connor. The curious look in her eyes makes it clear that she wonders why—and perhaps that she even admires your resolve. It’s true that the woman has never been kind to you, but you can’t bear to think about Eamon waking up to all of this horrible news and losing his wife or son as well. “We have to try,” you say, and her eyes meet yours.

 

“We will go to the circle tower,” she finally commands, her words a binding order. You give her a grateful smile, and she looks away.

 

You begin your march for the tower that very day.

 

…

 

You look around in confusion, feeling as if you just woke from a daydream.

 

“There you are, Alistair!” You turn to find your sister standing before you. You scratch your head, bewildered—you don’t quite remember what you’d been doing just a few minutes ago.

 

“It’s nearly time for supper,” she tells you, and suddenly you remember—your sister has invited you to stay with her for a while, to get to know her and her children better. She smiles. “Why don’t you go on and gather up your nieces and nephews so they can set the table?”

 

You can’t help your own smile as you head over to where the children are playing. You love children, and being able to finally spend time with your nieces and nephews is a dream come true. You’ve never had the sense of belonging that you have here, the warmth that fills you as the children look up to see their favorite uncle. (Well, their only uncle, but you’ll take what you can get.)

 

Before you can tell them to head inside, you hear another voice. “Alistair?” A shiver runs through you, and you aren’t sure why.

 

You’re certain you haven’t seen her in a very long time… not since the blight, and that must have been years ago. But she looks the same as the day you met her, so young and beautiful that she takes your breath away. Why did you ever let her go, you wonder?

 

She comes up to you with a determined look in her eye. “Alistair, we have to go.”

 

“Go?” you ask in surprise. “You just got here, and we haven’t even had supper yet!”

 

“Alistair,” she begins with a sigh, but she pauses at the approach of your sister.

 

“Elissa, I want you to meet my sister Goldanna,” you say, proud to have someone to introduce her to. Someone to belong to.

 

“Nice to meet you, Elissa, are you staying for supper?” Goldanna asks, wiping her hands on her apron.

 

Elissa looks from you to Goldanna with an odd, penetrating look in her eye. “I’m not staying for supper, and Alistair shouldn’t either,” she tells your sister firmly.

 

You stare, appalled at her manners. “Elissa, why are you acting like this?”

 

She grabs you by the shoulders, turning away from your sister completely. “Alistair, do you remember how you got here? Think very hard,” she says. Her grey eyes bore into yours.

 

You think you hear Goldanna calling, but you can’t tear your eyes away. You have to do as she says. You have to try to remember.

 

Your head pounds with uncertainty as it fills with memories, ones that _must_ be years old and yet you can find nothing to fill the gap. You remember a tower of mages and demons and then… nothing.

 

How did you get here? Nothing is making sense any longer. A question enters your mind and persists, though you had been certain of the answer just moments ago. “Elissa did we… did we stop the blight?”

 

She shakes her head, eyes still on yours. “No, Alistair, we didn’t. Not yet.”

 

The next thing you know, Goldanna is ripping Elissa away from you. “That is enough!” she screeches, glaring daggers at your fellow Grey Warden, and you wonder what it is she doesn’t want you to know.

 

Only then do you remember the sloth demon, and everything around you melts away into a terrible, barren landscape. Demons are upon you from every side, replacing your sister, nieces, and nephews. As the fog in your mind clears, you begin to feel incredibly stupid.

 

After you cut down the last of the demons, you turn to her and apologize. When you ask her how she escaped to find you, her voice is bitter. “I suppose my dream wasn’t as compelling as yours.”

 

You want to ask her more, but all of a sudden you realize that _you_ are fading away, just like your dream. To where, you don’t know, but you certainly hope you’re heading back to the real world. You’ve got a tower full of mages to save, and it scares you to wonder how much time was wasted here in the fade.

 

…


	3. Chapter 3

During the journey back to Redcliffe, your dreams are haunted by the specter of Uldred. You hear that terrible laugh of his in your mind, remembering how he defeated mage and templar alike. Your skills as a templar have always made you feel confident about battling mages (or at least as confident as one can be about battling someone who can shoot fire from their fingertips), but how easily the templars were defeated has shaken you.

 

You don’t think it’s right, the way mages are corralled and treated as less than human, but do you really have a better solution? Uldred may have been driven to madness by his subjugation, but you can’t help but imagine a demon like his being unleashed among the common folk, farmers, merchants, children—innocents who would have no chance.

 

All of these thoughts make you quiet during your trek back to Redcliffe, in addition to the worries you have about what you might find when you get there. Elissa asks you if something’s wrong, but you don’t feel like talking. You deflect with humor, hoping to get her off the subject. It’s obvious that she sees through you, leaving you to wonder if she’s really that perceptive or if you’re just that easy to read. You hope it’s the former, because the latter is just embarrassing.

 

Tired as your party is, Elissa pushes the pace back to Redcliffe. Anything could have happened while you were gone. You try to remind yourself that your time away wasn’t wasted—even if you can’t save Connor, you’ve fulfilled your treaty with the mages.

 

Additionally, the old mage you previously met at Ostagar, Wynne, has asked to join your party. You’re glad to have her along—her knowledge of healing will be helpful. Morrigan doesn’t know any healing spells (as if that is supposed to surprise you), and you are tired of trying to bind your wounds yourself. It’s handy to have a mage around who doesn’t hate you.

 

Nerves are on edge as you approach Redcliffe. None of you know if the demon within Connor has been calm in the time you’ve been away. But when you arrive, the village seems to be intact. You breathe a sigh of relief and hope you can say the same for what you find inside the castle.

 

The ritual is begun immediately upon your arrival. You pace for what seems like hours as the mages do their work, desperately hoping for a miracle. When the demon is defeated and the boy is saved, you know you aren’t the only one sending a thankful prayer up to the heavens.

 

But all the relief you feel is eclipsed when you finally get to see Arl Eamon. Finding Eamon so ill shocks you more than you had had anticipated—this man was the closest thing you had to a father growing up. Teagan tells you that they have tried everything they could think of, and yet he is still ill and will not wake.

 

Isolde is adamant that the healing power of Andraste’s ashes will save him, but the rest of you are dubious. The ashes’ power is spoken of in legend, but—even if you believed the stories—they have been lost for ages. Despite the seeming failure of Eamon’s knights in this quest, she seems certain that her scholar has found them, and implores you to seek them out.

 

You see Elissa furrowing her brow as Isolde speaks, and you imagine she must be thinking the same things you are. How many delays can you take? Is it truly wise to go off chasing a legend? And yet, you must have some kind of political ally to defeat Loghain, and Eamon is a powerful one. There is no question of needing him.

 

After a long moment, Elissa nods her assent to take on the quest. In spite of your misgivings, you do want to save Eamon, who was like a father to you once. You pray to the Maker that this time you spend searching will not be in vain.

 

You leave Redcliffe with a heavy heart, looking back from a high point to view the place you once called home. Elissa watches you, and you meet her eyes sheepishly as you turn away to move on. When she comes over and takes you by the hand, a little of your worry slips away.

 

…

 

The search for the ashes turns out to be a long one, and you leave with muddled feelings about the experience. Many of the things you discover on this adventure are more disturbing than awe-inspiring. A whole town of people conspired to kill and torture Eamon’s knights, all for a dragon they believe to be the reincarnation of Andraste herself.

 

You don’t want to kill them, but when they all turn to attack you, you have little choice. When you reach Andraste’s final resting place, you say a prayer for them before taking a small pinch of ashes and going on your way.

 

Finding the ashes, seeing them with your own eyes, fills you with awe. Whatever doubts you might have about the Maker, here is a real woman who fought for everyone, for freedom. A hero.

 

Everyone is quiet as you make your way back to Redcliffe, most of them thinking about the Gauntlet, just as you are. The experience has been different for everyone, but in your case, it leaves you remembering Ostagar.

 

You’ve tried so hard not to think about it and to only consider the task ahead, but it’s edged its way back into your mind. You should have been on the front lines with Duncan. You know that you couldn’t have done anything to change what happened, that you would have died along with him and all the others, but somewhere deep inside you want to believe that you could have saved him. Thoughts of your fellow Warden are the only things that stop you. Had you been alone, perhaps these thoughts would have overwhelmed you. But you aren’t alone. If there is one thing to be thankful for amidst all this chaos, it’s her.

 

You know you should allow yourself to feel the way you do about her, that you should be trying harder to put a stop to these emotions. The thing is, you don’t want to, and there’s no one left to make you do it. Your thoughts continue on this bittersweet path until your trek is interrupted by a strange woman begging your group for help.

 

Something about this feels a bit off, and it’s clear that Elissa senses this as well. But, never one to run from danger, she shrugs and goes after the woman, motioning for the rest of you to follow.

 

Neither of you are too surprised when it turns out to be a trap.

 

You fight off dozens of attackers, and when it’s over, you realize that their leader, the elven assassin, is still alive. You want to kill him, but Leliana interferes. “I believe this man may be an Antivan Crow,” she tells you, and Elissa’s face lights up with recognition. You shrug, unsure what the bard is talking about.

 

Leliana sees your puzzled expression and tries to explain. “Someone paid a lot of money to have you killed. Perhaps we should wake him and find out who.” She looks at Elissa, who nods, and binds his hands and feet before nudging him awake with a steel-toed boot.

 

The assassin is not what you expected. He seems quite content to answer every one of Elissa’s questions, and his glibness immediately puts you off. He jokes and teases and suggests you let him live. When Elissa asks why she would want to do such a thing, he is quick to offer his services as an assassin and fighter. When he also proposes that he could stay to warm Elissa’s bed, it takes Leliana’s grip on your arm to restrain you.

 

A tightening around the eyes is all the answer he gets from Elissa, and your anger lessens enough that you manage to keep yourself in check. But when you realize she’s actually considering bringing him along to fight with you, you have to speak up.

 

“Maker, Elissa, he’s an assassin!” you argue. “If we untie him, what’s to stop him from killing us in our sleep to fulfill his contract?”

 

The assassin claims he will swear an oath of loyalty, and you want to scream. How can you possibly trust the oath of an assassin, a man trained to have no allegiance but to the one who pays him? How can she really be considering this?

 

So far on your journey, the two of you have agreed on most things of importance, and you are glad she takes your opinion into consideration in spite of having taken the lead. But this time she overrides you completely, just like with the qunari, Sten.

 

You want to tell her that it’s her you’re concerned for—that the idea of her being killed in the night is what scares you so much. That you are not sure you could survive this journey without her. But when you see her face, you know your words will fall on deaf ears. This is a woman who is not used to being gainsaid.

 

So you go on, your heart in your throat for the entire trip back to Redcliffe, jumping at every shadow in worry that he is finally going to make his move.

 

…

 

You and Elissa are the only members of your party who stay in the room while the ashes are administered. It is crowded enough with the two of you, Isolde, Teagan, and the healer, and you don’t want any more confusion for Eamon than necessary.

 

Relief overwhelms you when Eamon opens his eyes. He immediately asks for his wife and son, sounding confused but more coherent than you could have expected. You turn to Elissa with a smile, who briefly returns it. When you turn back to Eamon, his eyes are on you. “Alistair?” he asks, his brow furrowing. “And little Ellie Cousland?” She gives a curt nod, and you smother a smile at her annoyance.

 

Once Teagan and Isolde have filled Eamon in, he wants to get to work immediately. In spite of all his days spent abed, he seems to have already recovered, proving the power of Andraste’s ashes to be far more than a mere legend. You start to wish you had kept some of the ashes for yourself—on a mission like yours, a bit of divine aid could be useful.

 

After a few minutes, Isolde slips out to check on her son, and the rest of you sit down to discuss what comes next. Eamon has a plan to confront Loghain face-to-face at a Landsmeet. In the meantime you are to continue gathering allies and information that will help take Loghain down. It’s a good plan and you agree with it—until he suggests to put you on the throne.

 

A cold fear sinks in your stomach. He can’t be serious, can he? It was made clear to you at a very young age that you would never become king, and you were perfectly fine with that. There is nothing that scares you more than being responsible for an entire kingdom, to have the lives of thousands dependent upon you. You’d rather face down the damn Archdemon on your own.

 

You look around the table, meeting three sets of dead serious eyes staring back. The blood drains from your face. This cannot be happening!

 

Elissa takes your hand under the table and squeezes it, but that is little comfort. This is just too big for you to comprehend. You may be the last of the Theirin bloodline, but does Eamon really think the nobility will accept a bastard with no training or experience as their king? And that doesn’t even begin to factor in your own misgivings.

 

“We’ll help you,” Eamon says, and the other two nod their consent. No one asks your opinion—it is clear that the decision is made, with or without you. Still in shock, you watch the three of them move on to discuss the next step. The matter is closed.

 

You miss the rest of the meeting. You trust Elissa to remember what Eamon says, because your head doesn’t stop spinning until long after the conversation is over. Your party leaves immediately to head towards Orzammar, without giving you even a moment to breathe or to process any of the thoughts going through your head before you hit the road.

 

…

 

As you travel, you notice Elissa eyeing you, and you’re not sure what to make of it at first. Then she offers to stay up with you during first watch, and you hope you might receive some answers.

 

You are quiet as the other companions head to their tents to sleep, thinking over the day’s events. You have spent your entire life having the idea drilled into your head that you should never think of yourself as royalty and that you will never be king. Though you often dreamed of soft royal beds, palace banquets, and loving fathers during your nights in the stables, you never desired this. Your connection to the throne has only caused you grief. People have always treated you differently. You were either coddled or hated, set apart in ways that you never wanted.

 

And now you are told that you must be king, that it is for the good of Ferelden, that it is your duty. You don’t want this; you never wanted this—the very idea fills you with dread. You aren’t ready for this. You could _never_ be ready for this!

 

Once everyone else has settled down for the night, Elissa comes over to you as you sit by the fire. When you glance up at her, those gray eyes you have come to love are apologetic. “I’m sorry you were taken by surprise today,” she tells you as she sits next to you. “I would have warned you if I’d realized.”

 

You stare at her in disbelief. “You knew Eamon would want to put me on the throne?”

 

“You’re the last of the Theirin bloodline, Alistair,” she says, as if that explains everything. With a wry smile, she adds, “And it certainly doesn’t do Eamon any harm either.”

 

You are surprised at her cynicism. “Do you think that’s why he’s doing this?” you have to ask, but she just shrugs and turns her eyes to the campfire.

 

“Probably not,” she finally answers. “But I’m certain the thought has crossed his mind.”

 

Both of you are quiet for a moment, lost in your own thoughts. You like Eamon. You trust him. He wouldn’t use you for power, would he?

 

After a minute, Elissa turns her eyes back to you. “You really are innocent, aren’t you?” she asks, and you blush in spite of yourself.

 

She smiles at your bashfulness, her expression less guarded than usual. It’s easy to forget your embarrassment when you are so easily distracted by her smile, how it lights up her face and makes her eyes sparkle.

 

“You know I spent most of my life in the Chantry,” you remind her. “Not in some castle with lesser nobles falling over themselves to court me, like some people,” you tease.

 

It is her turn to blush. “That’s not what I meant,” she insists, not letting the question go in spite of her embarrassment.

 

“It amounts to the same thing,” you tell her, and for you it’s true. Your life was sheltered in a multitude of ways. There are so many things you never learned, so many things you never had the opportunity to do.

 

Now that you’ve put the thought in her mind, she asks the question. “If you were raised in the Chantry, have you never…?” she trails off, just a hint of pink still staining her cheeks.

 

You are afraid you’ll say too much because your feelings for her come up in such force that it nearly takes your breath away. You do what you always do—deflect with humor. “Never what? Had a good pair of shoes?” She laughs, and you continue. “Seen a basilisk? Never licked a lamppost in winter?”

 

She’s trying to hide her lingering smile as she responds. “You know what I mean.”

 

When her eyes sparkle like that, it’s all you can do to avoid telling her that you want your first time to be with her. “I… never had the opportunity,” you manage to say. “It’s not exactly forbidden, but… the Chantry is rather vigilant about their trainees.”

 

You shrug, and eye her, wondering what her own answer might be. “What about yourself?” you ask, and the next part slips out of it’s own volition. “Have you ever licked a lamppost in winter?”

 

The way you say it makes both of you blush, but when she finally looks up to answer, her eyes are serious. “As a teyrn’s daughter, I was supposed to keep my virtue clean for whoever they chose for me to marry.” Bitterness rises up in her voice as she  continues. “But I suppose that doesn’t much matter now, though, does it?”

 

You want to pull her close and comfort her, but she distances herself, stomping off to the other side of the fire and swinging her sword around. The way she stabs and slashes the air, you can only guess that she’s practicing for the day she finally meets Howe face to face.

 

You watch her rampage until the shift is over and you both head to your tents. The image of her fiercely battling the empty air stays with you until you drift off into a deep sleep.

 

…


	4. Chapter 4

You once thought that Fereldan politics were complicated, but they seem like child’s play compared to what you discover when you reach Orzammar.

 

Only the dwarven Assembly is authorized to address your treaties. The Assembly cannot see you until their current issue is dealt with. Their current issue is deciding upon their next king—an issue which has kept the Assembly in a deadlock for weeks already.

 

The last thing you want to do is get involved, but staying out of the argument means that you may not get the aid you need, the experienced dwarven armies that are all but essential in this war.

 

There are two men vying for the throne, the late king’s son, and his advisor. This isn’t your kingdom or your culture, but if you don’t help someone gain the bloody throne, you won’t get your troops. By the end of your first day in Orzammar, you are already in over your head.

 

Elissa compiles information on each of the potential kings, poring over page after page in the Shaperate. When she makes her choice at last, you can’t help but doubt her decision. The rumors surrounding the king’s son are terrible. When you ask Elissa about her decision, the answer isn’t what you expect.

 

“I don’t care about their pasts,” she says simply. “I don’t care which one of them the old king chose.” She meets your eyes levelly. “The only thing I care about, aside from getting our army, is what they _plan_ to do.” She pauses. “The prince may have done some terrible things. I don’t know if the rumors are true.” She shrugs. “But his plans for the future are better for Ferelden.”

 

She shows you her notes, the information she’s collected, and you begin to read. You tentatively agree with her, but you still have misgivings about her chosen king. It still surprises you every time she says something so cynical. It makes you sad to think that someone so young and seemingly innocent can be so disillusioned with the world.

 

And yet, the more you think about the things she says, the more you see the truth in them. Sometimes, you hate how the world works.

 

…

 

Even with all the work you do to resolve the dwarven Assembly’s deadlock, you aren’t lucky enough to avoid entering the deep roads. You are sent on what seems to be a fool’s errand—if indeed their paragon is still alive, how do you know she will even help you?

 

Not all of your objections to this errand are practical, however. For you, the deep roads are a reminder of what awaits you one day—the Calling, a death that is merciful in spite of it’s apparent cruelty. You have no desire to enter the deep roads before the inevitable day you go to your death within them.

 

Elissa looks at you like you’re an idiot for reacting so vehemently to the idea, and it suddenly becomes painfully obvious that Duncan never told her what every Grey Warden ought to know. There’s no one left to tell her but you, and you so dread giving the news to her.

 

Late that night, you tell her everything. Not just about the Calling, but everything she might not know about being a Grey Warden, all the things you’d want to know in her position. She gets angry, stalking around and swinging her sword in a way that scares you. “Elissa, please,” you say, trying to calm her, but she only shakes her head and continues her rampage.

 

You know she must feel betrayed, but there’s nothing you can do now. You wish you could take the pain and anger away, but all you can do is keep an eye on her until she runs out of steam. It’s supposed to be her turn for first watch, but you send her to bed. For once, she follows your orders.

 

…

 

You steel yourself before heading towards the deep roads entrance, somewhere you never expected to be for years to come. Elissa determines to leave about half of your party behind, given detailed instructions on what to do in each contingency. Anything could happen while you’re gone, and you have no idea how long that will be. Lucky you, you’ll be joining her in the deep roads.

 

Just as the others turn to go, you are accosted by a dwarf who smells strongly of ale. As he explains to you how he can be of help, you and Elissa exchange a look. It could be useful to have a dwarf on your side both while in the deep roads and while muddling through dwarven politics, even if he is a bit of a drunk. At the very least, it doesn’t seem like it could hurt.

 

Elissa seems to feel similarly inclined, and tells Oghren that he may come along and help you find your way. You, Elissa, Leliana, and Wynne follow him into the deep roads. When the door shuts behind you, you swallow your fear. You tried not to imageine what the Calling would be like, but it seems you’ll be getting a small taste of it now.

 

…

 

The horrors of the deep roads seem to be never-ending. You stand transfixed as you look down into the chasm where darkspawn swarm in inconceivable numbers. Sensing the darkspawn has never been like this before; your whole being is filled with it.

 

And then the Archdemon rises from the abyss.

 

For a instant, you think that this may be the moment you will die. You’ve never seen Elissa scared, but she grabs your hand and grips it so tightly that it seems she might break it.

 

Yet death does not come. The dragon does not seem to notice your presence. Perhaps among the teeming numbers of darkspawn, two beings of tainted blood are of no consequence. Perhaps it simply didn’t see you, a few tiny creatures on the edge of the cliff. Even so, you shudder at the thought of how quickly all could be lost.

 

From then on, your heart lurches at every sound you hear in those dark corridors.

 

Night and day seem the same in this terrible endless place. Instinct tells you to get out, but you can’t, not until you have what you need. Wearily you cut down darkspawn after darkspawn, feeling as if you will never reach the end of it all. Even sleep is no escape. Your dreams are plagued constantly.

 

You have noticed Elissa tossing and turning as much as you’ve been, and you know she feels it too. The unintelligible screams of the Archdemon fill your dreams, words of horror in a language you do not understand.

 

With her nerves on edge, Elissa seems to have become more authoritative than ever. She barks out instructions, demands that you all stay close, insists that she must be first to check out something dangerous.

 

You want to protest, but before you can even open your mouth, she gets that _look_ , the one that tells you that your objections will fall on deaf ears. Short of physically overpowering her, there’s not much you can do to save her from her own stubbornness.

 

As you make your way closer to your destination, the Anvil of the Void, things become steadily stranger and more surreal. You feel as if all of this must be some nightmare, and you wish it were. The things you see, the things you learn, chill you to the bone.

 

Broodmother. That’s what they call this creature, the mother of darkspawn. It is nearly impossible to comprehend that this aberration was once a person. The idea fills you with such shock and revulsion that you feel physically ill.

 

But as much as you are shaken by this discovery, the women in your party are far more disturbed. In the midst of battling darkspawn, Elissa grabs you roughly. “Kill me before you let them take me,” are her words, her eyes boring into yours with a burning intensity. She turns away quickly, but you are stunned for a moment longer, unable to move until you are attacked and your reflexes take over. The fate of the women they take is not something you can comprehend, or ever want to.

 

After you’ve killed the broodmother, you still have to get to the Anvil of the Void. The Paragon you’ve been searching for, Branka, finds you on your way, but will give her help only in return for yours. Once you get to the Anvil, however, everything changes. Branka isn’t the only Paragon that’s been hiding in the deep roads.

 

Caridin is also willing to help you—in exchange for a favor, of course. He and Branka are at odds; he wants the Anvil destroyed so that no more golems can be created using living souls, but Branka wants to keep it, to create more golems that can be used to retake the lost thaigs.

 

It’s quite clear to you that Branka is insane. Even Oghren can see it, in spite of his feelings for her. You tell Elissa as much, suggesting that you side with Caridin, and all she does is nod. You don’t know if she’s exhausted, troubled, or if the fight in her is gone, but all three of those options are worrying.

 

As soon as you declare yourselves for Caridin, Branka attacks you, animating a small army of golems to join her, attacking your already exhausted party of warriors. After a draining battle, Branka lies dead, and Caridin brings his hammer to the Anvil of the Void one last time.

 

He hands the Paragon crown to Elissa, and tells her to choose wisely. She destroys the Anvil on Caridin’s instructions, and he bids you farewell before diving into the molten river below to finally find his own release.

 

When Elissa turns to you with weary eyes and suggests stopping for the night here and now, you can’t possibly say no.

 

…

 

In the morning (as if time has any meaning here), you make a run for Orzammar, as quickly as you are able. Everyone wants to escape the deep roads as soon as you can, you and Elissa most of all. As hard as you push, it still takes you two days.

 

When you reach Orzammar, you immediately head to the Assembly chamber, finding out that the Assembly is already in session. Arguments die down to a murmur as you enter. Elissa presents the Paragon’s crown to Bhelen, and it seems like this nightmare can finally end. The new king promises you your army, and you can finally head on your way.

 

Before you go, however, Oghren stops you. He wants to continue in your company, to pledge himself to your quest. At this point, you and Elissa just shrug your shoulders at each other. “The more the merrier,” she says, and he steps out onto the surface for the very first time.

 

…

 

You don’t want to go to Denerim, but Elissa insists.

 

Yes, you were briefly there before, but there’s no reason to tempt fate. Loghain is in Denerim, after all. You know she is right that it’s the best place to gather information and resupply, but it’s a dangerous place for two Grey Wardens to be at a time like this.

 

But after your ordeal in Orzammar and the deep roads, it’s obvious that Elissa wants some normalcy, a return to civilization. You can’t help feeling that this is a dangerous idea, but there is no dissuading her once her mind is made up. Because of everyone’s exhaustion, you take a slower pace as you head towards the capital city, even making an early stop for the night, giving you some extra time to rest and reflect.

 

You’ve been toying with an idea for a while now—giving Elissa a gift you’ve been carrying with you ever since Lothering. Maybe it’s a bit too forward; you have no idea how she will take it. She’s not like any woman you’ve ever met, and it’s difficult to pin her down. But this night you decide to take the leap. Are you going to sit and think about it forever?

 

“Here, look at this,” you say as you walk up to her, placing the flower in her hands. “Do you know what this is?”

 

She looks up at you, clearly wondering where you’re going with this. “It’s a rose,” she says, stating the obvious. “I’ve noticed you pulling it out of your pack and staring at it every now and then,” she adds, and you blush.

 

“I picked it in Lothering,” you tell her by way of explanation. “Every other flower in the Chantry garden was dead, but this one bloomed. I shouldn’t have picked it, but I couldn’t bear the idea that the darkspawn would come and taint it. I wondered how something so beautiful could thrive in the midst of all the darkness and despair.”

 

Cradling the rose in her hands, she looks up at you, and her eyes are soft and kind enough that it gives you the courage to continue.

 

“I thought that I might give it to you,” you tell her, and a look of surprise crosses her face. “In a lot of ways… I think the same thing about you.” You hold your breath as you wait for her response.

 

You fear rejection, but a gentle smile crosses her features. “Thank you, Alistair.”

 

You could have stopped there, but you want her to really understand. “I’ve been thinking… You’ve never had any of the good experiences of being a Grey Warden. None of the camaraderie, none of the words of thanks or appreciation, and you’ve never complained once.” you say, looking at her. You want to kiss her right then and there, but you know that you shouldn’t, that you’ve already gone too far. “I just wanted you to know what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this darkness,” you say quickly, not sure whether you want to kiss her or run off into the woods to hide.

 

And then, she’s the one who kisses you. Her arms wrap impulsively around your neck, pulling you down to reach her lips, which are so soft you can hardly believe it. As she loosens her grip to look up at you, you couldn’t care less about what anyone else thinks or whether it’s right. You would do it again and again and damn the consequences.

 

Those beautiful gray eyes that you’ve come to love seem unsure, possibly for the first time, and you think it’s adorable. She seems to be wondering what to do next, so you solve her dilemma.

 

You kiss her again, and it feels like magic.

 

…


	5. Chapter 5

Your skin crawls at being in the same city as Loghain.

 

You can’t decide whether you’d rather march through the palace gates and kill him for what he’s done or run as far away as you can as fast as you can, dragging Elissa along behind you. You know what that man is capable of, and if Zevran’s presence is any indication, he’s certainly taken Elissa’s advice to try harder. With Zevran now tentatively on your side, Loghain must be angrier than ever.

 

But you have another reason to avoid Denerim.

 

It’s been easy enough to ignore the slip of paper when you’re away from the city unable to do anything about it, but when you stand in the middle of the Denerim market, the address on that slip seems to burn a hole through your pack.

 

Even worse, the absolutely perfect opportunity has arisen to talk to Elissa about the matter. She’s sent everyone else off on errands, leaving the two of you alone to head to the armorer’s, located conveniently near the particular house you’ve been alternately longing and fearing to enter.

 

You give in to the longing and pull her aside. “Can we talk?” you ask, and she gives you an expectant look.

 

You run your fingers through your unruly hair. “Do you remember my dream in the circle tower?” You press on anxiously, giving her no chance to answer. “Well, I really do have a sister. A half sister, that is. I’ve never met her, but she lives right here in the market district.”

 

Elissa gazes at you for a moment, taking in your bouncing foot, unsteady breathing, and rumpled hair. “And you want to visit her?” she asks. You freeze up at the thought, but that’s the bloody point of this, isn’t it? _Oh, Maker._

 

She doesn’t wait for your response. “We have time now,” she tells you. “We can stop in before we visit the armorer.” Upon receiving the slip of paper with the address, she drags you there without a word of input from you. You aren’t sure whether to be bothered by or grateful for her gung-ho attitude.

 

Elissa knocks on the door, and a shiver goes down your spine when a voice tells you to come in.

 

You stare at the woman in her tattered dress and apron, looking older than her years. She doesn’t look up as you enter. “Are you Goldanna?” you manage to ask.

 

She nods distractedly, wiping her hands. “You’ve got washing to be done? I charge less than that Natalia woman down the street. She’ll rob you blind!” she admonishes, and you’re a bit taken aback.

 

“No, um, I don’t need any washing done, I was hoping to speak with you,” you tell her.

 

She looks at you for the first time, and her eyes widen as she takes you in, sword, shield, and full set of plate armor.

 

“It’s nothing bad,” you hurry to reassure her, realizing how dangerous you must appear. “We’re not here to cause trouble.”

 

She eyes you warily but gives you her full attention. “Well?”

 

You glance at Elissa, who gives you a reassuring smile. You take a deep breath. “I’ve been looking for you for a while because, well…” It sounds so absurd in your head, but you have to say it. “I believe, or I’ve been told, rather, that you are my sister.”

 

“Excuse me?” she says with a disbelieving look, and you feel like a complete idiot.

 

“Your mother was a serving woman at Redcliffe castle, wasn’t she?” you ask, and you see the light of recognition appear in her eyes.

 

“It’s you,” she says incredulously, and then a dark look comes into her eyes. “You’re the one who took mother from me.”

 

She goes on to tell you how everything that has gone wrong in her life stems from your mother’s death, and you are struck speechless by her tirade. She is your only living family in the world, and she hates you. Worst of all, you can hardly blame her for it.

 

She’s had a hard life, and, in spite of knowing you couldn’t have done anything to change it, you’re wracked with the guilt of knowing how much better your life was than hers, imperfect as it was.

 

When her rant loses steam, she gazes at you up and down. “Looks like you’ve done well for yourself,” she snaps, and you wince.

 

“I’m a…” You pause before saying ‘Gray Warden’. There’s still a bounty after all. “I’m a soldier. Fighting the blight.”

 

That doesn’t seem to win you any favor with her. “Mhmm.” She looks you up and down. “Might be able to spare a few coins for your nieces and nephews.”

 

You know you’re focusing on the wrong thing here, but… “I have nieces and nephews?”

 

She meets your gaze accusingly. “Yeah. And most of them in rags and half-starved.”

 

Even though she is little more than a stranger to you, it pains you to hear this. You look to Elissa. “How much do we have?” you ask her, and she pulls out the coin purse.

 

Her brow is knit into a concerned frown as she hands you a pair of sovereigns. The bag clinks as she puts it away, but you know what remains is to be spent on armor.

 

“It’s not much, but it’s all I can do right now,” you tell her with an apologetic voice, dropping the coins into her palm.

 

“That’s it?” she accuses, crossing her arms. “That’s all you can do for your family?” She spits at the ground. “Worthless. What good is family to me if this is all you can spare?”

 

You stare speechless at this grasping woman and wonder if she can truly be your sister.

 

Elissa touches your arm. “Let’s go,” she says softly. “There’s nothing more for you here.” You know she’s right, but it hurts nonetheless.

 

Elissa guides you to the door under Goldanna’s venomous stare. You’ll never forget that look as long as you live.

 

You’re a mass of tangled emotions as the door shuts behind you, and you glare up at the offensive sunshine. What had seemed a nice day before now only seems spiteful. You keep your eyes averted from Elissa, hoping she won’t want to talk this through, at least not yet. You’d rather be left alone with your own thoughts, even if they are filled with guilt, embarrassment, and pathetic self-pity.

 

Out of the corner of your eye you see her turn to you, opening her mouth then stopping short. Instead of words, all that comes out is a sigh. She pats you on the arm and turns towards the armorer’s. In your surprise, it’s a moment before you follow. You wait all day for words of sympathy or offers of a listening ear, but it is long dark before they come.

 

You smile weakly at Elissa as she comes around the campfire. You’ve come to treasure these late-night talks, but this is one you think you might rather avoid.

 

She sits down beside you, putting a gentle hand on your knee. “I’m sorry about today,” she says softly.

 

You stare miserably into the fire. “I’m sorry you were dragged into it.”

 

“I don’t think that was really about you, Alistair,” she says, and you give her a puzzled look. “If it wasn’t you, she’d have found someone else to blame,” she says. “You’re just a convenient scapegoat.”

 

She takes your hand between her smaller ones. “Most people don’t think about others. They’re out for themselves, whether it’s for power, wealth, or simply survival. They don’t care about the feelings and needs of other people.”

 

For a moment, her eyes fill with an unbearable bitterness, but all of that disappears as she reaches up to place a hand on your cheek. You want to tell her that it isn’t true, that people are so much better than she gives them credit for, but her eyes make the words catch in your throat.

 

“That’s what makes you different, Alistair,” she says softly. “There aren’t many people out there who care one way or the other about the misfortunes of those they don’t know, who would willingly give money to a stranger who has been nothing but cruel.” Her smile is sad. “There aren’t many people with that much kindness. There aren’t many people like you.”

 

While you’re still processing her words, she kisses you on the cheek and stands, heading over to rummage in her pack. Her golden hair shines in the firelight, hanging down her back in waves, the way you like it best.

 

When she returns, there’s something in her hand. “I have something for you.” She holds out a tiny parcel wrapped in parchment. You turn it over in your hands, seeing that your name is written on it. You look up at her with questioning eyes, and she explains. “I found it in Arl Eamon’s study. I was waiting for the right time to give it to you.”

 

You look at it curiously, and carefully unwrap the parcel. Inside the wrappings you find a finely wrought silver chain attached to an item that makes your chest constrict the moment you see it. “My mother’s amulet,” you whisper. “It’s… It’s been fixed.”

 

The soft, knowing smile on her face tells you she’s already looked inside the wrappings. “I think he meant to give it back to you.”

 

It takes an effort to stop the tears from coming, but she has enough kindness to pretend not to see. She slips away quietly, leaving you with your thoughts.

 

Before you head to your tent for the night, you put the chain around your neck, feeling more whole than you had since Duncan’s death. You wake early the next morning and hold it between your fingers as the sun rises.

 

…

 

“I think we should go to that Warden’s Keep place.”

 

You sigh, giving her an incredulous look. “Because a stranger we met on the road says that we should visit? How can we be sure that he really knew Duncan?”

 

She crosses her arms. “If what’s up there belonged to the Wardens, there may be something that can help us,” she says firmly. “We need all the help we can get.”

 

“Like what?” you ask, but her only answer is a shrug. You follow her lead despite your lack of conviction. As usual.

 

To Elissa’s credit, it seems to bother her that you disagree, and she spends the time on the road trying to convince you that this is the right move. She reminds you that it’s close to Denerim and not far off your path. She comes up with dozens of ideas—from the mundane to the ridiculous—of useful items the keep might contain, and she continues until you finally admit that there _might_ be some merit to the idea. The way she beams at you afterwards makes wonder if it might be worth it to argue with her just so you can let her win.

 

As you travel the weather steadily worsens. It’s snowing heavily by the time you reach the gate, so heavily that you can barely make out the bulk of the keep in front of you.

 

“It’s good we came,” Elissa says, sounding somewhat less sure of herself than she previously had. “At least we’ll have somewhere to shelter for the night.”

 

You neglect to remind her that your detour to the keep was probably the reason you got caught in the storm to begin with. Nonetheless, all of you are relieved once you find yourself inside the keep’s strong stone walls.

 

That relief doesn’t last long.

 

You find out, almost immediately, that those strong stone walls also hold a tear in the veil. You make your way through the tower fighting walking corpses and demons along with something new and strange that you’ve never experienced before. The keep seems to be having what one might call _flashbacks_ to the time of the Grey Warden rebellion. So you get to experience the pleasure of reliving history—violent, bloody Grey Warden history—while you fight.

 

In perverse fascination, you watch the Wardens destroy their own order—and it scares you more than you want to admit. Everything that happened to those Wardens came as a direct result of getting mixed up in politics. You can’t say you don’t feel a bit of appropriate irony and fear.

 

You are probably in a little too deep to get out of politics at this point.

 

…

 

You fight your way through the entire tower before uncovering the source of all the horrors. The Warden mage who ripped through the veil in a last ditch attempt to save the order still lives, performing sick experiments and unnaturally prolonging his life. With your help, he believes he can mend the tear in the veil, and will do so as long as you let him live.

 

The man being crazy and dangerous is not enough to put Elissa off his proposal, but she does at least demand that he never again use a live subject in his experiments. You are less than convinced of his sincerity, but you don’t spend time voicing your concerns. You’ve learned when not to waste your breath. Besides, you remember, there is still that tear in the veil.

 

Once you mend the veil and clear the tower, you can finally set up camp for the night. Elissa seems rather self-satisfied that everything turned out so well. You’re not so sure that ‘well’ applies to the situation, but the others seem only to care that they’ll be sleeping in real beds for once.

 

It takes very little prompting to get your party to head to the base of the tower to set up their sleeping space, but you don’t follow. Instead, you tail Elissa and Avernus to the mage’s study and wait outside its closed door. You don’t like her being alone with him.

 

You while away the minutes wondering what Elissa had been so intent upon discussing with him, and coming up with all kinds of horrible ideas of what the insane mage could be doing to her behind the study door.

 

When Elissa finally emerges looking none the worse for wear, you feel first relieved and then silly for worrying at all.

 

She smiles when she sees you. “You waited up for me?”

 

You nod, falling into step beside her as she heads out onto the bridge. She pauses partway across, and you turn to look at her. You find her staring out into the night, with only a couple of torches to breach the darkness. The blizzard stopped hours ago, leaving the world wrapped in a blanket of sparkling white.

 

She turns back towards you, gazing into your face as if you are a puzzle she’s trying to solve. “Why did you wait for me?”

 

You glance away, suddenly nervous. Looking out over the snow, it seems like there is no one in the world but for the two of you. She takes a few slow steps towards you, closing the space that divides you. Her footsteps are the only sound in the silent world outside the tower.

 

She reaches a hand to your cheek, gently turning your head back to meet her eyes. “You always do things like this,” she says. “No one has ever looked out for me the way you do.” She doesn’t give you time to answer. “Why do you do it? Why do you care so much? Is this just the way you are, or…” Those fingers, still on your cheek, stroke it just slightly. She stares up at you, her words little more than a whisper. “Is there another reason?”

 

The answer slips out before you can censor yourself. “It’s because I love you, Elissa.”

 

You don’t have time to regret your words. Suddenly she’s kissing you, and everything’s right in the world. Your worries about the blight, being king, the future…. they all disappear, if just for a few moments.

 

When she finally breaks the kiss, your arms have somehow found their way around her. You feel dazed, disbelieving. If this is a dream, you don’t want to wake up.

 

Once Elissa catches her breath, she looks up at you from under her lashes. “You know,” she begins cautiously, “the Warden Commander had private quarters here.”

 

You give her a questioning look, but your heart begins to race, wondering if you’ve understood her meaning correctly.

 

You must not have hidden the desire you felt, because when she speaks again, it’s with confidence. “Why don’t we make good use of it?”

 

The two of you make it to the room in record speed, and she pushes you down on the bed, kissing you with more ardor than ever before. Still, when she pulls back for a moment, you can’t help but air your misgivings.

 

“Maker, Elissa, I want this more than anything, but are you sure?” you ask, and she gives you an inquiring look, knowing there’s more to this than meets the eye.

 

You try not to turn red as you explain. “I don’t want this to go too fast and ruin things between us, and, well… I’ve never done this before,” you remind her, embarrassed.

 

She blushes, but gives you an encouraging smile. “You forget, Alistair, I’ve never done this either.”

 

Without another word, she kisses you again, the passion of it enough to take your breath away. And Maker, are you glad you changed out of your armor, because she’s reached your skin now and you’ve never felt anything so magical in your life. Once she unlaces your breeches, all your worries are swept away in the pleasure she inflicts.

 

And, in spite of your fears, you don’t regret a single second come morning.

 

…

 


	6. Chapter 6

When the two of you come down from upstairs the next morning, the others shoot knowing looks at each other and hide giggles behind their hands. It ought to drive you mad with embarrassment, but nothing can bring you down today. You blush a little, but truly, you are too happy to care.

 

The next night, Elissa invites you to share a tent. You don’t know what the future will bring, but you know you want to spend every moment with her while you can. After a trying day, it’s a wonderful feeling to be able to pull her into your arms at night. The worries of the day slip away as you hold her close and drift off to sleep.

 

The one good thing about being the only Wardens left is that there is no one to tell you what you’re doing is wrong.

 

…

 

Your last treaty is for the Dalish elves. Fulfilling this treaty looks like it may be more than a little complicated—the Dalish have a notorious hatred for humans as well as a reputation for being difficult to find.

 

It takes you days in the forest to find a clan, and when you do, they almost shoot you. Only the sight of a fellow elf in your party stops them. Fortunately, this gives Elissa the opportunity to talk them down, and the scouts allow you to enter the camp to speak with their Keeper.

 

You hope to talk to them, show them the treaty, and walk out with a promise of an army, but it’s no surprise when they ask for something from you first.

 

Nothing can ever be simple, can it?

 

The clan’s hunters are plagued with illness. A werewolf’s curse, Keeper Zathrian tells you. If you find and bring him the source of the curse, he claims that he can “probably” cure the hunters.

 

This plan is dubious at best, but how many options do you have? Upon agreement, Zathrian gives you the details of his request. The source of the curse is the white wolf, Witherfang, and he wants Witherfang’s heart.

 

So you venture deeper into the forest. Zathrian’s directions are vague at best, so you find yourselves going in circles, finding strange and dangerous things, and fighting the occasional werewolf. These werewolves allude that there is more than meets the eye to the hunters’ curse, but they will tell you nothing except to turn back, and that you cannot do.

 

At the end of the first day, you have not found the werewolves’ lair, and you are forced to spend the night in the forest. The strange sounds that come from the darkness around your fire seem to spook even the most stoic of your party—except, of course, for Sten, who never seems to show any emotion at all. It’s a restless night, but nothing enters the ring of your campfire’s light. When dawn arrives, you move on, hoping to find what you seek quickly—none of you wish to spend another night in this forest full of mysteries.

 

As you move deeper into the heart of the forest, the werewolf attacks become more frequent. You take this for a good sign, that you must be closing in on their lair. It seems that the werewolves have holed up inside some kind of ancient ruin, so you make your way through it to find this Witherfang—and also this “Lady” the werewolves keep speaking of.

 

Once you battle your way through the ruin, you finally get to meet the Lady of the Forest that the werewolves revere, and she shares with you a very different story from the one Zathrian told. Elissa seems inclined to believe her, but you aren’t sure what to think. Zathrian didn’t strike you as exactly a good man, but this Lady is obviously a spirit of some sort. Though not all spirits are malevolent, it puts you on edge. You’ll be the first to admit you aren’t the most perceptive person around, but you’re sure they are both hiding something.

 

Elissa manages a meeting between the Lady and Zathrian, a parlay of sorts. He is willing to talk, but not to compromise, and, while the Lady at first appears more pliant, her stance ends up being much the same. Elissa spends hours trying to mediate between them while you and the werewolves eye each other suspiciously.

 

In the end, all the diplomacy in the world doesn’t avail you much. Zathrian attacks with little warning, forcing you to defend the forest spirit. Just before the killing blow is struck, he surrenders. He promises to end the curse he inflicted so many years ago, perhaps finally finding some regret in holding onto his hatred for so long. Destroying the curse also destroys him, but he does it willingly, finally able to be at peace.

 

And though the wounds inflicted on both sides are deep, this sacrifice seems to go a long way towards healing them. The werewolves become human, as they once were, and the Dalish hunters are also rid of their affliction. When you return to the Dalish camp, the new Keeper, Lanaya, promises assistance, pledging you her clan’s hunters and those of any other clans she can contact in time. She seems the type to keep her promises.

 

It’s a relief to leave with your final treaty fulfilled. You feel like you’ve been in the forest for years, though it has been barely more than a fortnight. When you walk out from between the trees to see a wide expanse of sky again, it’s like being reborn into the world.

 

…

 

Now that all of your treaties are fulfilled, you assume you’ll be heading back to Redcliffe to meet Eamon and prepare for the Landsmeet, but Elissa decides to make a couple of stops on the way.

 

The first stop Elissa wants to make is Flemeth’s hut, somewhere you haven’t been since she and Morrigan nursed you back to health at the beginning of this long journey. You don’t know what Elissa’s purpose is, but she promises to explain it in time.

 

You all set up camp in the wilds, and then she tags you, Leliana, and Wynne to come along with her. On the way, she fills you in. Elissa found an old grimoire of Flemeth’s in the circle tower. In reading it, Morrigan discovered that her mother plans to kill her and take over her body to maintain her youth and extend her life. This confirms what you’ve suspected all along—that this witch truly is the Flemeth of legend. You’re not exactly sanguine with the idea that it’s up to you to kill her. Hopefully she’ll leave some scraps for the Archdemon.

 

When you approach the hut, she is already outside waiting. She knows why you have come. She wants to make a deal, to somehow convince you to let her live, but Elissa won’t hear a word of it. And that’s when Flemeth shape-shifts into a high dragon.

 

If it weren’t for Wynne, you aren’t sure you would have made it. Flemeth breathes fire on you again and again, and constantly swipes at you with tail or claw. Your body feels like it’s burning until Wynne’s healing magic flows through you. It’s a war of attrition, one that you eventually win, to everyone’s relief. While Wynne and Elissa go inside to examine Flemeth’s things, you study the dragon’s corpse with a frown. You don’t claim to have much understanding of such things, but shouldn’t Flemeth have shifted back into her human form upon her death? You shudder, disliking the questions this seems to raise.

 

Even with all the trouble you had in fighting her, you can’t help but wonder if it had been too easy.

 

…

 

When you reach camp again, Elissa tells you not to get too settled. You sit, still in armor, and watch as she goes to speak with Morrigan. You are amazed at the changes you see in the witch—for just a few minutes she seems so much less full of hate as usual. In spite of all your differences, you feel a pang of sympathy for her.

 

After her talk with Morrigan, Elissa comes up to you, grabbing Wynne on the way. “We have one more place to go, then we’ll come back here for the night,” she tells you. When you ask her where, her eyes are solemn. “Ostagar.”

 

The field is cold and desolate at this time of year. Walking through the ruins that are now so empty makes you feel empty as well.  But the worst thing you find, by far, is on the walk high above the battlefield. Anger and grief fight for dominance when you see Cailan’s body preserved and displayed like a trophy. To hide your revulsion, you say something stupid, deflecting emotion with humor as you tend to do.

 

Elissa puts a comforting hand on your arm, but both of you are distracted by the sight of darkspawn on the other side of the bridge. _“I don’t anticipate much fighting,”_ Elissa had said earlier, and now she sends you an apologetic glance. But you aren’t sorry to see them.

 

You work out your rage and all your hurt on the darkspawn you find, fueled by the thought of your brother’s tormented corpse. As exhaustion fights with anger, the sight of Cailan’s armor on some of the darkspawn sends you over the edge. As you cut down beast after beast, you dimly wonder if this is what Oghren had meant by berserker rage.

 

After a while, you run out of darkspawn and move to collect the pieces of Cailan’s armor. As you search, you come across something that stops you short. You pull the dagger out of the frozen soil and stare at it, as if you are seeing a ghost. Elissa comes up next to you with a question in her eyes. “It’s Duncan’s,” you tell her, and she gives you a sad, understanding smile.

 

“You hold onto that,” she tells you. It’s all you have left of him now. With one more long look at the dagger, you put it away.

 

…

 

You and Elissa build the pyre.

 

Once she declares it worthy, the two of you take Cailan’s body down and prepare him together. You are surprised at Elissa’s reverence, but when you question it, she gives you a harsh look. “The body of a king deserves respect,” she says, and you question her no more.

 

You place Cailan’s body on the pyre gently, taking one last look at your brother and king. You take a step back, standing beside Elissa and Wynne, not quite sure what to do now.

 

Wynne says a prayer over him, commending his soul to the Maker at last. After a moment of silence, she steps forward, using her magic to light the pyre.

 

She rejoins you and Elissa, and the three of you watch silently as the fire consumes Cailan’s body. You stay until the ashes no longer smolder, only then leaving what remains of your king and his pyre.

 

You take Elissa’s hand as you walk away, and you realize she’s trembling. “Cold?” you ask, concerned, but she shakes her head. You sigh at her stubbornness, worrying all the way back to camp.

 

…

 

“I’m fine,” she says, with a voice that will brook no argument.

 

“You were shaking like a leaf the entire walk back. You need to stay at the fire,” you insist, holding her by the wrist.

 

She rips her arm away from your grasp and gives you a glare that could burn through steel. She marches off to the tent you share, pulling the flaps closed behind her.

 

You drop down by the fire, rumpling your hair with your fingers. How can someone so brilliant be so foolish sometimes?

 

You give her a few minutes to calm down, in hopes that she won’t throttle you when you try to talk to her again. You take a blanket out of your pack to warm by the fire, intending to bring it to her in the tent along with a bowl of the stew Leliana is making, in hopes that your offerings will soften her up a bit as well as keep her warm.

 

When the stew is ready, you grab the blanket and take a bowl in to her. She looks up sharply when you move the flap to the side, but she doesn’t yell or send you away. She even allows you to wrap the blanket around her shoulders.

 

You settle in beside her and give her the stew, quietly waiting as she eats. “I’m sorry,” she says suddenly, in between bites. “About earlier.”

 

You can’t stay angry at her, so you give her a soft smile. “I know.”

 

After a few more silent minutes, she tries to explain. “It didn’t seem real until today. Cailan was always kind to me.”

 

“You knew him?” you ask, and she shrugs.

 

She leans into you as you put an arm around her. “I met him when I was a child, before he became king. He wasn’t like the others. My brother and his friends made fun of me for wanting to spar with the boys, treated me like I didn’t exist. He wasn’t like that.” She lets out a sad laugh. “He danced with me at his wedding, though I was hardly more than a little girl at the time.” You hold her tighter. You don’t like to see her like this.

 

When she speaks again, her voice is full of quiet anger. “He deserved better.”

 

“I know,” you tell her, kissing her temple in comfort. You never met your brother, but seeing him like that hit you harder than you could have imagined. The nightmare of Ostagar feels more real now than it ever had before.

 

“We’re going to avenge him,” you tell her, and she nods.

 

“We’re going to avenge them all,” she says, and you know she’s not just talking about Cailan and Duncan. She means the rest of the Wardens, her family, and all the people who have been hurt by Loghain and the blight.

 

You feel the fight rising up in you, and you’re glad that this is all coming to an end soon. Someone is going to pay for those deaths. You’ll make sure of it.

 

…


	7. Chapter 7

The first thing Eamon says to you when you reach Redcliffe is the last thing you want to hear.

 

“We’ll be ready to march for Denerim first thing tomorrow morning.”

 

You’ve been hoping for a delay.

 

You really, really, _really_ aren’t ready for this Landsmeet. You’ve been trying to ignore the whole king thing, as if it will go away if you don’t think about it. But that isn’t going to work for much longer, not with the Landsmeet quickly approaching. You definitely aren’t reconciled to the idea of taking the throne, and you aren’t sure you’ll ever be. Leliana doesn’t even trust you to cook dinner! How does Eamon expect you to rule a kingdom?

 

Eamon doesn’t care that you don’t want this. He has determined you are the only alternative to Loghain’s daughter, and that is that. End of discussion. It’s easy for him to make this decision— _he_ doesn’t have to rule. No matter how much Eamon or others promise their help, you know that in the end it will come down to you. Your decisions. Your responsibility. To the void with _that_ , in your opinion. Sadly, your opinion doesn’t count for much. Not until they crown you, anyhow.

 

You are restless during the trek to Denerim, your mind filled with thoughts and worries about what is to come. Eamon’s prattling doesn’t help. He often seeks you out during the journey to give instructions on how to act, what to do, and mostly what _not_ to do. The more Eamon talks about the king he wants you to be, the more you feel like a little boy again, the child who slept in the stable and threw his mother’s amulet in anger, the young man who grew up in the Chantry, educated but far too innocent. You aren’t king material, surely everyone will see that.

 

But that isn’t the only thing bothering you.

 

You’re worried about your relationship with Elissa. You don’t want to lose her, you want to marry her! You can’t think of any reason anyone would object to the idea—she’s _perfect_ queen material—except perhaps Elissa herself, who seems more interested in going home to retake Highever than anything else. You haven’t exactly asked her opinion on the matter. You’d like to, but, well, you’re a little afraid of how she’d respond. You’re counting on having time to wear her down after the blight.

 

Eamon seems as if he also might object, though you can’t quite figure out why. He hasn’t spoken a word of it, but you’ve noticed the slight frown he wears while watching you together, the look of disapproval as you follow Elissa into your shared tent.

 

You know there are more important things going on, but you’d be lying to yourself if you said it didn’t worry you.

 

…

 

Once you arrive in Denerim, you find more than enough distractions to keep your worries at bay. There are many things to do, but first Eamon instructs you and Elissa to case out the situation with the nobles who have arrived for the Landsmeet, to find out which way they are inclined to vote and to see if there is anything you can do to sway them in your favor.

 

Eamon still hasn’t said anything about your relationship with Elissa. He made a point of showing you to your separate bedrooms, but has been otherwise silent on the matter. You and Elissa discussed it, deciding to appease him for now. You need him, as much as you dislike sleeping apart. Elissa thinks that by staying silent, Eamon is trying to appease _her_ for the very same reason. Though you find it easy enough to forget, he seems to be constantly aware that she is a Cousland, outranking him in name if not yet in title. You can’t help but wonder if this is the source for his disapproval. He may be worried that her influence over you is greater than his own—and he’s right.

 

Elissa has more influence over you than any other person, but that’s because you trust her. She’s never done anything to suggest she wants anything but the best for you or for Ferelden. With that kind of selflessness, you’re honestly not sure what Eamon is worried about.

 

But for the time being, you are all in agreement about what needs to be done. Your first step is to visit the Gnawed Noble Tavern, where many of the nobility like to gather. Elissa’s plan is to focus on a few key people, those who wield the most influence. If you can get them on your side, many of the minor lords and ladies will follow suit.

 

When you enter the tavern, Elissa begins pointing out various arls and banns to you so that you can begin memorizing faces and names. She gives you little tidbits of information on them, bits of gossip, where their holding is, ways to remember them. There is so much that you don’t know.

 

Before you actually approach anyone, Elissa takes you aside and asks you to hang back. She already knows many of them, she explains, and she worries that you would seem self-serving by approaching them yourself. You’ve got no problem whatsoever with this plan—the last thing you want to do is walk up and make a fool of yourself. Which, you are quick to admit, is likely.

 

So you happily sit back and admire her as she makes her rounds through the room. She seems to move so comfortably through these aristocratic circles in spite of how much she’s confessed to hating them. Though her armor intimidates those she approaches, her smiles enchant them. Eamon had suggested dressing for the occasion, but gowns aren’t really her style. To you she looks _right_. In her armor, shined to perfection, she appears exactly what she is—a model Warden, a noble warrior, and the strongest woman you’ve ever known. You have to be amazed at your own luck. How in Thedas did you—bumbling idiot, failed templar, king’s bastard—manage to win _her_?

 

You give Elissa a smile as she approaches and lets you in on what she’s learned. Bann Sighard’s son is missing, she tells you, and if you can find and help the boy, his vote is certainly yours. She thinks she’s convinced Arl Wulff, but Bann Ceorlic appears to be a lost cause. Bann Alfstanna seems open but distracted, and Arl Bryland was friendly though he did not have time to chat.

 

The two of you head back to the estate to speak with Eamon, to fill him in on what you’ve learned, but you don’t get the chance to tell him. A strange elven woman is with him, who he immediately introduces as Anora’s handmaiden, Erlina.

 

She begs you for help—Anora has been imprisoned at the Arl of Denerim’s estate, for fear of her speaking out against her father. You’re suspicious, to say the least, but when the handmaiden mentions that it’s Howe who has imprisoned Anora, Elissa’s attention is caught.

 

“Howe?” she says tersely, and Erlina nods.

 

“Teyrn Howe has taken over the Arl of Denerim’s estate and has trapped her there!” she repeats emphatically, her eyes pleading.

 

Elissa is no longer listening. Her mind was made up the moment she heard Howe’s name. You rush to grab as many people as you can on the way out the door as there’s no delaying her. She can already taste her revenge.

…

 

Erlina meets you at the estate and shows you her plan for getting you inside—guard uniforms. You have to stifle a laugh more than once at how absurd the getup looks on most of your party. Morrigan looks particularly disgruntled at having to wear the disguise. You try not to gloat _too_ much. Because of the disguise, Sten and Oghren cannot go in with you—a qunari and a dwarf would stir up more than a little suspicion—and there are no uniforms to fit them anyhow.

 

Erlina’s disguises get the rest of you inside, and you manage to get through the estate quickly and quietly until you reach Anora, who is trapped within her room by some kind of spell. The mages in your party take turns attempting to dispel the effects, but to no avail. Wynne suggests that it could be undone by the mage who cast it, and Morrigan counters her by adding that killing the mage would also end the enchantment. The older mage gives Morrigan a dreadful glare, but you agree with the witch for once. It’s pretty unlikely that any mage you find in Howe’s estate is going to cooperate.

 

Elissa has been pacing behind you the entire time, looking impatient. You’re not sure she’s been listening at all. When Anora mentions that the mage is most likely with Howe himself, you glance back at Elissa, but her expression is strangely blank. It reminds you so much of the day you first met her all those months ago, and that’s a thought that scares you. She’s come so far since then.

 

As you make your way through the estate, Erlina follows, prattling on about Howe. She talks about his and Loghain’s plans, what he’s been doing to Anora, and various inconsequential things that you quickly tune out. But Elissa, you realize, has heard every word.

 

“Teyrn Howe—” Erlina begins for the hundredth time, but she’s suddenly cut off as Elissa whips around to face her.

 

Eyes burning with fury, Elissa draws her sword and pushes the elf back against a wall. “Call him _Teyrn_ Howe one more time and I will gut you myself,” she hisses.

 

She is positively terrifying.

 

Before you, or anyone else, can collect yourselves and react, Elissa is already sheathing her sword. The moment she takes a step back, Erlina runs towards Anora’s room, having apparently decided that following you is not a good idea any longer.

 

Everyone stares at Elissa, not quite sure what to do. You feel like you should say something to her, but you’re afraid she’ll gut you too, just for speaking up. But then she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, a veneer smoothing over her anger. “Come on,” she says, motioning for you to continue.

 

And though she sounds and appears calm, you know that was only a glimpse of the rage that bubbles underneath, waiting to surface.

 

The rest of your search through the estate is uneventful until you head down to the dungeons—which are reached through a door in Howe’s own bedroom. You’d love to find out who had that ingenious design plan.

 

When you reach the bottom of the stairs, you run into a single lone guard. He threatens to raise the alarm, but before he can do it—before you can even ready your weapons—two hands reach out from between the bars of a cell beside him and snap his neck. You watch in morbid curiosity and surprise as the guard is dragged towards the cell, his keys clanking in the lock moments later.

 

A man steps out and gives you a very gentlemanly bow as you all gawk at him rather awkwardly. You start to collect your wits, but then he reveals that he’s a Grey Warden sent from Orlais. Your wits remain uncollected. You immediately reach out through the taint to check if he’s lying (he’s not), then you share a look with Elissa. Just how long has this man been locked up in a cell while the two of you fight the blight on your own?

 

Though you have your doubts about his usefulness, it’s not like you can afford to be choosy at this point. You’d like to see what he can do, but seeing as he’s in no condition to fight at the moment, you ask him to meet you at Eamon’s estate and head onward into the dungeons to find Howe.

 

Getting through the dungeons is slow work as Howe’s guards attack in waves. You can see the frustration in every movement Elissa makes as she fights them. She’s attacking carelessly, impatiently, and it worries you. You know she’s in a hurry to reach Howe, but what good will that do if she gets herself injured or killed before she gets there?

 

The only thing that seems to slow her down for even a moment are the prisoners. The torture chambers have clearly been well-used since Howe acquired the estate, and it’s horrifying. The young son of Bann Sighard is still strapped to a torture device when you find him, and his legs will never be the same. You know it’s wrong, but you can’t help feeling a bit of relief at the realization that Sighard’s vote will be yours.

 

Sighard’s son isn’t the only political prisoner Howe has locked away in the estate’s dungeons. Among the many prisoners you release are Bann Alfstanna’s brother and the rightful Arl of Denerim. Two more votes, you think, and then chastise yourself for it. There are more important things than votes.

 

You already knew what kind of man Howe was, but seeing it with your own eyes is different. Torturing and imprisoning innocents for what, his own amusement? It disgusts you, and makes you even more set in your belief that Howe is a man that deserves to die for his crimes.

 

Though Elissa takes the time to stop for each prisoner you find, you can tell she is becoming more and more agitated that she hasn’t yet found Howe.

 

And then, after exploring nearly the entire dungeon, you finally reach the man himself, the man who destroyed Elissa’s life, who killed and tortured so many for his own twisted pleasure.

 

When you see Elissa step in front of him, you can hardly believe you once thought her small and fragile. She is a force to be reckoned with. You would never want to be on the receiving end of that indomitable will and righteous anger. Howe isn’t as scared as he should be—he doesn’t know that the look in her eye marks him as a dead man.

 

He steps forward, mage and guards at his side, and eyes Elissa up and down. “Ah, Bryce Coulsand’s little spitfire, all grown up and still playing the man. I should have slaughtered you with the rest of your worthless family.”

 

She pulls herself to full height, eyes blazing. “That’s no way to speak to the rightful teyrna of Highever.” You hear gasps and whispers of confusion you’re your party behind you, and it’s only then that you realize you are the only one she ever told.

 

Howe’s reaction is a sinister laugh. “As far as Ferelden is concerned, the Couslands are dead. The teyrnir belongs to me now.”

 

You see Elissa’s fists tighten. “You missed one,” she says, and lashes out with her sword.

 

No one in your party needs to be told to leave Howe to Elissa. You quickly dispatch the mage and guards and watch as Elissa takes down the man who killed her family. When she finishes him, she stands over his body as if frozen. You and the others exchange looks, but no one seems to know what to do. Leliana finally gives you a nudge, and you go to Elissa, wrapping an arm around her to lead her away. She seems lost, as if she doesn’t know what to do now that she has finally avenged her family. You know better than to imagine his death gave her peace. Nothing will bring her family back.

 

When Loghain’s guards come for you, she almost seems relieved. Fighting is easier than thinking.

 

Ser Cauthrien asks you to surrender, but Elissa has already unsheathed her sword. There are too many of them, but you must back her up once she strikes. Arrows pelt your armor from all sides as you try to beat back Loghain’s soldiers. And then Cauthrien knocks Elissa out with the pommel of her sword.

 

You immediately call it off, telling your party to stand down. They’ve already got Elissa, and you have no doubt the rest of you will be injured or killed if you keep this up. You’ll have to find another way out of this.

 

The rest of your party is free to leave, but you and Elissa are taken away.

 

…

 

Elissa is still out cold when they put you in the cell, and you hover over her in worry. The guards took pleasure in roughing you up, and you’re concerned over the way they unceremoniously tossed Elissa into the cell. It feels like forever before she wakes, even though you know it has only been a few minutes. She claims to be fine but for the headache, so the two of you start to devise an escape plan. You’d rather not hang around Fort Drakon, waiting to be tortured or worse.

 

After tempting the guard to come close to the cell, she punches out from between the bars, taking the keys from his belt. You find your belongings not far from the cell, including the guard uniforms you used to get into the Arl’s estate. With your disguises and a little subterfuge, you manage to walk straight out through the front door without anyone being the wiser.

 

…

 

Though your friends must be worrying, Elissa insists on making a stop before heading back to Eamon’s estate. She wants to visit the Gnawed Noble Tavern to talk to Banns Sighard and Alfstanna about what you found in Howe’s dungeons. Both turn out to be unrelentingly grateful for your intervention, promising their votes for the Landsmeet.

 

When you reach the estate, you see a lot of relieved faces. Leliana runs up and disconcertingly hugs you both, immediately chattering about how worried they’ve all been and how they were just about to send someone after you. She brings you to Eamon and Anora. Even though the queen claims to be grateful for your safe return, you can’t find it in you to trust her.

 

After some preliminary questions and fussing over Elissa’s and your well-being, you move on to discuss other matters. Anora has news of a troubling situation in the elven Alienage, using her knowledge a peace offering of sorts, something that could potentially benefit you in the Landsmeet if her father can be implicated.

 

There isn’t much time—the Landsmeet is tomorrow afternoon—but you and Elissa agree to check it out in the morning. Tonight you plan to discuss the Landsmeet with Eamon and take a well-deserved rest. Everything seems settled until Anora turns to leave, saying something that gives everyone pause.

 

“I know my father must be stopped, but after this is over, Ferelden will still need a ruler. I hope you will support me in my bid to remain queen. The kingdom has had enough unrest, and with my experience, I should be able to give it the stability it needs.”

 

She walks out of the room, leaving the rest of you speechless. None of you trust her—everyone knows how much influence her father has always had over her. Eamon would certainly never agree to allow her to rule, but having her on your side may be crucial.

 

“I’ll go talk to her,” Elissa decides with a sigh, leaving you with little to do but wait.

 

…

 

When Elissa reenters the room, she looks troubled and asks to speak to you alone. Eamon frowns but directs you to his bedroom. As she shuts the door behind you, your heart begins to pound. You don’t like the look on her face.

 

She takes a deep breath before turning to face you. “Alistair,” she begins, “I have something to say, and you’re not going to like it.”

 

You don’t know what to make of this. The controlled tone of voice, the careful, passionless expression… This isn’t like her at all.

 

She moves to sit on the edge of the bed and motions for you to join her. You follow anxiously and wait for her to speak her mind, staring at her while she stares at her hands.

 

When she looks up, the expression in her eye shakes you to the core. “I think you may have to marry Anora,” she says, and you can’t breathe. This must be a nightmare. It can’t be real. She wouldn’t do this to you… to both of you. She would find a better way. She always finds a better way.

 

As you stare at her with uncomprehending eyes, she looks back down at her hands and takes a shaky breath. “Her claim on the throne isn’t as good as yours, but she has experience. I’m afraid the nobility may not accept you on your own, especially if she speaks against us. This…” Her voice wavers. “This might be the only way.” Her head stays down, as if she is afraid to look at you.

 

You feel as if you ought to say something, ought to respond, but you can’t find the words. What do you say when your heart is breaking and your world is falling apart all around you? When you’re being suffocated by your own future? With the woman you love at the heart of it all, you don’t know where to turn.

 

And then a thought enters your mind, a thought that allows hope to rise up in you for just a moment. But Elissa reads you like a book and answers the unspoken question before you can ask it.

 

She gives a slight shake of her head. “No, Alistair. Even though I’m as capable as she is, I have no claim on the throne. I have Highever to think about as well.” She looks down again, unable to meet your eyes. “And Anora can do something for you that I can’t,” she adds.

 

She looks up at you again, her grey eyes determined. “You need an heir,” she says firmly. “We both know that’s not possible for us as Grey Wardens, but maybe with Anora…” her voice falters, and you see her eyes filling with tears.

 

You pull her into your arms, and she breaks down, sobbing into your chest. You’ve never seen her cry, and it scares you. She’s always been so strong.

 

“I’m sorry,” she says, between sobs.

 

You hold her tighter, finally finding your voice. “I know, dearest,” you say, and there’s nothing you can do to make it better.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please bear with me--things aren't settled yet.


	8. Chapter 8

Elissa’s eyes are red when you silently meet in the estate courtyard the morning of the Landsmeet. The sun shines traitorously as she gives you a curt nod, and you cross the market to reach the alienage. This is the day your future is decided.

 

_“You’re okay with this, Alistair?” Eamon had questioned, once Elissa had told him of the deal she had struck._

_You couldn’t keep the bitterness from your voice. “Do I have a choice?”_

_The silence was his answer._

 

Either you will be king, sentenced to a responsibility—and marriage—you never asked for, or the Landsmeet will side with Loghain, and you will be lucky to get away with your life.

 

No matter what happens today, you can’t win.

 

…

 

Your visit to the alienage is longer than intended. How were you supposed to know that “something going on in the alienage” meant a mysterious plague, Tevinter mages, and a secret slave trade?

 

And Loghain had his hands in all of it. Relief and disgust battle for dominance. How could Loghain do this to his citizens, to those he was sworn to protect? And yet, this alone could win you the Landsmeet.

 

You’re going to have to learn this game of politics if you want to be successful as king. Yet you abhor the idea of rejoicing in your opponent’s failures and evil deeds when so many people are harmed by them.

 

When you finally exit back into the sunshine after these trials, Elissa begins cursing under her breath, eyes on the sky. You look up and add some swearing of your own as you notice the sun’s position. You’re going to be late for the Landsmeet.

 

…

 

When you finally reach the palace, Ser Cauthrien denies you entry into the Landsmeet chamber. Elissa, who is usually full of charm and persuasion, is silent, glaring daggers at the other woman. She has clearly not forgiven Cauthrien for your little detour to Fort Drakon.

 

You scramble to find your own words, seeking a way to make Cauthrien see reason. It isn’t as difficult as you expect—she has been having doubts already. Her head drops as she allows you to pass, and you feel sorry for her. You can’t imagine how it must feel to own up to the madness and evil of a mentor and personal hero.

 

When you reach the doors, you stop, taking a deep breath. Elissa, who has hardly spoke to you since the fateful discussion of the night before, squeezes your hand. _You can do this,_ she seems to say. You hope she’s right.

 

When the doors swing open, all eyes turn to you, gasps and whispers making their way through the crowd. Eamon’s impassioned speech is no longer heard in the excitement of your entrance.

 

So many curious eyes fall upon you, wishing to see this secret son of Maric. Will they even believe your parentage? Do you look enough like a Theirin? Like a king? Elissa may have dressed you up in Cailan’s armor, but armor doesn’t make a king.

 

No one has been paying much attention to Eamon’s speech, but as soon as Loghain’s voice cuts through, your attention is snared. He goes on an angry tirade, first accusing both Eamon and Elissa of using you for power, and then going on to suggest that you and Elissa are traitors, attempting to place the kingdom back into Orlesian hands.

 

Maker, you’re glad that it is Elissa and not you who is called upon to respond to his accusations. Despite the rage you know she must be feeling, her response is calm and reasoned. “The blight is the threat here, Teyrn Loghain, not Orlais. We have no intention of allowing Ferelden to fall under Orlesian rule,” she states firmly. “As Grey Wardens, our first concern is ending the blight, a task we have been unable to complete due to your actions at Ostagar and in the months that have followed,” she says, with a composure that is beyond you.

 

Elissa becomes bolder as a few of the nobles speak up in assent. “In addition to his actions at Ostagar, I have evidence that Teyrn Loghain has sanctioned the selling of free elven citizens to Tevinter slavers,” she announces, “As well as conspiring with Arl Howe to imprison and torture members of three separate noble families without cause. This includes his own daughter Anora, widow of our own King Cailan.”

 

Banns Sighard and Alfstanna immediately chime in to corroborate the story, and even the chantry gets in on the action. The revered mother is furious about the imprisonment of one of their own templars, Alfstanna’s brother.

 

Loghain denies the charges against him. “Howe’s crimes were his own, and he will answer for them to the Maker. As for Anora, where is she, Warden? It is you, not Howe, who has imprisoned her!”

 

The room erupts into chaos until a clear voice is heard from the far end of the room. “I believe I can speak for myself,” Anora announces, and a hush falls over the crowd as she enters the room. “I was indeed held captive at the Arl of Denerim’s estate, at my father’s insistence. Though my father is a hero of this kingdom, I believe his judgment is now compromised,” she explains to the assembly.

 

The way Loghain looks at her, you truly believe he has gone mad. He takes her words as a betrayal. His voice is resigned. “I see the Wardens have poisoned even your mind, Anora. I wanted to protect you from this.”

 

But before you have a chance to feel any sympathy for the man, he turns to you, meeting your eyes. His words are a challenge for you alone. “If we cannot settle this with words, then let us settle this by blood! Let’s test the mettle of this would-be king!”

 

You have never believed in trial by combat.

 

The Maker has never seemed to intervene on your behalf before, so why would he now? But you cannot protest. The terms of the duel are set by the landsmeet, and they watch you eagerly as you look around the room. There is no way out of this, so you whisper a short prayer. Just in case.

 

The two of you pace around each other, like predators sizing up your prey. You will not underestimate him. He is the hero of Riverdane, a warrior of legend. You’re good, but are you good enough? For the kingdom, you have to be.

 

Loghain is the first to make a move, attempting to knock you down with his shield. You’re winded, but stay on your feet. When that fails, he lunges towards you with his sword. The clanging of steel against steel rings out through a silent room.

 

You know your advantage—he is old. You are young, in the prime of your life. You have spent the last year fighting every single day. You must draw this out until he is too tired to go on. You will take no chances until then—too much depends on this for you to fail because of your impatience.

 

The duel is wearying. You block and parry for what seems like forever, attacking him carefully, but never making a move to kill. You wound him superficially, bleeding him slowly. You must wear him down.

 

It comes to the point that you wonder if he will outlast you. You are feeling the effects of the fight as he bashes you again with his shield, staggering you. While you attempt to regain your footing, he strikes. It takes all your self control not to cry out as his blade smashes into your side. You remind yourself that he can’t keep going forever… but neither can you.

 

You push past the pain. You have to do this. For Duncan, for Cailan… for the elves halfway to Tevinter that you couldn’t save, and all the citizens who still can be saved if you defeat him.

 

Finally, he seems to slow, breathing more heavily, moving more clumsily, no longer fighting as he had. This is your chance. With all your strength, you knock him back with your shield.

 

He stumbles, and, while he staggers, you hit him again. His sword swings wildly at you as he falls, but you knock it away. And in two strokes, the battle is over. Loghain admits defeat on his knees with your sword at his neck.

 

Suddenly, you feel conflicted. His crimes are enough to condemn him to death, but he has conceded the duel already. You look to Elissa for just a moment, and though she looks oddly shaken, she gives you a small nod. That is all the confirmation you need. With one sweep of your sword, he is beheaded.

 

You have been told time and time again that there is no satisfaction in revenge. For you, it’s a lie. For so long you have lived in fear of this man, in hatred of him. Perhaps the ghosts of those betrayed can rest easy now that justice has been done. It won’t bring them back, but… you can’t regret this.

 

You take a short moment to revel in these feelings before Wynne rushes up to heal the wound in your side. As the pain ebbs away, you take in the scene before you. The nobility is in chaos, all talking at once. Some seem to be arguing, some in shock, and others seem almost excited by what has just occurred. In disgust, you turn your eyes elsewhere. Wynne moves back to rejoin the rest of your party, Eamon is attempting to call the Landsmeet to order, and Elissa is staring at you looking pale, her hands balled into fists.

 

During the duel you hadn’t had time to think about how others might have worried. Was the fear that is still written on her face for you or for the kingdom should you fail? You’ll probably never know.

 

Eventually, Eamon succeeds in calming down the nobility. The Landsmeet is not over. Deposing Loghain from his regency is not enough to make you king. There must be a vote on who should succeed. Eamon formally asks Elissa for her proposal on who should rule, and your heart sinks. For a moment you had forgotten about Anora.

 

The nobility looks pleased at the suggestion of your joint rule, but when Anora speaks up, it changes everything. “I will _not_ marry the man who killed my father,” she says vehemently, her eyes so full of hatred that you are sure her mind won’t be changed.

 

She storms out, leaving the chamber in chaos. Your head spins as you attempt to figure out what will happen next, filled with a combination of relief and fear. You never came to terms with marrying her, but without her, how are you supposed to win? And Maker, if they choose her, there’s no telling what she’ll do to you.

 

After a few moments, Eamon cuts everyone off with a loud, “Order!” The room falls silent, all eyes turning to him. You hope he has a plan.

 

“Alistair is the last of Calenhad’s bloodline,” he argues. “Has it truly come to the point that we will sacrifice our heritage?”

 

A few traditionalists are in vigorous agreement, but much of the room looks conflicted. If this doesn’t get resolved, how are you going to convince the nobles to focus on the blight? Or if they choose to crown Anora, you will probably be killed and Ferelden will be in even more danger than it is now.

 

Before the arguing once again gets out of control, Elissa holds up two hands to silence the room. You feel a bit of desperate hope. She must have an idea. She always has something.

 

The room quiets down, everyone, including yourself, curious about what she has to say. The nobles are attentive—she commands respect in this room for more than her status as a Warden.

 

But when you look closely, you can see she is terrified. You doubt many others in the room will notice—you know her better than most—but it worries you. Maybe she doesn’t have anything. Maybe she thinks you’re going to lose.

 

She waits for total silence, then takes a deep breath, closing her eyes momentarily before speaking. “If indeed your indecision comes solely from Alistair’s lack of political experience and education in statecraft, I have a second proposal.” You aren’t the only one looking at her in confusion. She surveys the room, meeting the gazes of the Landsmeet head-on, but avoiding your eyes completely.

 

She takes a deep breath, still faintly trembling. “I offer myself. I propose that I take Anora’s place beside Alistair as queen, ruling jointly.”

 

Your jaw drops. You try to compose yourself—your heart is racing and you’re staring like an idiot. But no one is looking at you. The nobles have started arguing again.

 

Elissa glances at Eamon, and he once again calls the room to order. After a few moments, it quiets to a low murmur.

 

She continues, sounding more composed than she must feel. “While I do not have the practical experience in governing that Anora has, my education has been just as thorough. In addition, during the months that Alistair and I have been traveling Ferelden as Grey Wardens, we have met and created alliances with the leaders of Orzammar and the Dalish, alliances that will not only help us defeat the blight, but ensure the stability of this kingdom for years to come.”

 

Elissa pauses to look around the room, and your eyes follow hers. Will they be convinced? “In light of Anora’s refusal of the role and my aforementioned points,” she says firmly, “I do not believe that my proposal is in any way inappropriate or self-serving. I hope you will consider it carefully.”

 

After a moment of silence, whispers and chatter build up again, as everyone discusses the idea. You stare at Elissa, who takes a shaky breath but doesn’t look at you. You wish you had some idea of what she’s thinking.

 

Several minutes pass as the nobility deliberates. You stand and watch, still feeling dazed. You are filled with so many conflicting emotions that it’s hard to figure out what you want anymore. You didn’t want to be king in the first place, but for the first time it seems that becoming king doesn’t also seem to mean giving her up.

 

After deciding enough time has passed, Eamon calls the Landsmeet back to order. As silence falls over the crowd, your heart begins to pound so loudly that you’re sure everyone else can hear it.

 

Eamon will cast his vote last, as is traditional for the lord who calls the Landsmeet. But instead of looking up to the balcony where the other Arls stand, he looks first at Elissa.

 

You are confused until you hear her announce that she will recuse herself from the vote due to a conflict of interest. It dawns on you that she and Eamon must have planned this little show, which is even more effective now that the vote is about her. She won’t allow the Landsmeet to forget who she is—or allow them to doubt her fairness of mind. You are continually amazed by her.

 

But Elissa’s isn’t the only brilliant mind in that room, and the others won’t be so quick to help you. You aren’t sure how _she_ can take you seriously as a candidate for king, much less the rest of the nobility.

 

During this thought process, you realize that the vote has continued while your attention was elsewhere. Your chest constricts—you had meant to keep count of the votes in your head. Jittery and nervous, you wait until Eamon casts the last vote. Your entire future will be decided in the next few moments.

 

A scribe tabulates the numbers, as is tradition, though you imagine most people in the room have already worked out the outcome. You feel lightheaded as the scribe stands to announce the results, his voice loud and clear.  “The votes are cast: Alistair, last of the Theirin line, will be king, and Elissa Cousland of Highever will rule beside him.”

 

The room erupts, but you stand rooted to the spot in shock. Somehow all the talking and planning never quite prepared you for the reality. You’ve actually been chosen as king.

 

Apparently you’ve fooled quite a few people into believing in your competence. Only time will tell if you will be able to live up to the faith Ferelden has put in you.

 

The nobility calls for a speech, and you attempt to muster up a few words in spite of your shock. As soon as you finish speaking, people begin to come up to you with well-wishes, promises of troops, and words of loyalty. You try to compose yourself, speaking to each of them with as much dignity as you can.

 

When the parade of nobility finally begins to slow, Eamon sends you off to another room so you can collect yourself and begin to discuss the future. You have no idea what to do next—all your thoughts have been consumed with this Landsmeet. You can hardly comprehend the past few hours. Your mind is in no state to think about what comes afterwards.

 

When you enter the room where your party has been waiting, everyone stares at you in silence, expecting… something. You don’t know what. Elissa lifts her head from her hands but doesn’t quite meet your eyes. You don’t want to give a speech or discuss strategy—all you want to do is talk to her. Alone.

 

After a second of standing there like an idiot, you decide you can do what you bloody well please. You’re Ferelden’s chosen king now, after all.

 

“Elissa.” You motion for her to follow you into the next room, shutting the door behind her when she enters. When you turn to look at her, you realize you have no idea what to say. There are too many thoughts running through your head to formulate even a single sentence, so you simply stare at her, wondering how to begin.

 

You’re saved when she speaks up herself. “About what happened in there…” she trails off, finally looking up into your eyes. “Are you angry with me?”

 

“Maker, no,” you tell her in shock. “How could I be angry with you?” you ask her.

 

She glances away. “Well,” she says, “It seems like the kind of thing I probably should have discussed with you first.”

 

You shake your head. “Maybe under normal circumstances. But you were brilliant in there,” you tell her, taking her gently by the shoulders. “You saved us.”

 

Elissa gives you a small smile. “When I saw the nobles arguing, it was the only thing I could come up with. I didn’t think I had much choice.”

 

You frown slightly at her words, but Elissa, distracted by her own thoughts, doesn’t notice your expression.

 

“Maker,” she breathes, “What am I going to do about Highever?” She stares at you wide-eyed, as if she’s only now realized what she has committed herself to. “I promised Mother—”

 

Her voice breaks off as you pull her to your chest. You wish you had answers for her.

 

She speaks up again, more softly. “What if we can’t have children?”

 

You have the same fear, but saying so won’t help her now. “We’ll think of something, my love,” you promise her. “Magic or something. We’ll figure it out. What’s important now is that we can deal with the blight. Anything else can wait.”

 

“Of course,” she says as she pulls back, shaking her head as if to clear it. She looks exhausted.

 

“You ought to get some rest,” you tell her, and she gives you a look.

 

“I’m fine,” Elissa protests, and you have to restrain yourself from rolling your eyes. Her stubbornness knows no bounds.

 

You try a different angle. “How about this,” you suggest. “We go ahead and meet with Eamon and Riordan as planned, then we take some supper back to our room and lock the door until morning. Use your imagination,” you say with a hint of a smile.

 

She raises a brow, but can’t hide her slight smile. “ _Our_ room?” she questions.

 

You pull her in for a kiss. “Damn whatever Eamon says. I’m not sleeping apart from you any longer,” you say, now grinning. “Who’s king here anyways?”

 

Elissa laughs out loud, probably the first time in days. “It’s a deal,” she says with a smile. “Now I think we better get back to our adoring public,” she adds, and the two of you turn to go, ready to plan for the blight and the days ahead.

 

…


	9. Chapter 9

You can hardly believe that _you_ , of all people, are presiding over a war council.

 

Less than an hour after the Landsmeet decides your fate, you are sitting at the head of a table, expected to make some kind of meaningful contribution to a battle plan, as if you’ve been doing this all your life instead of just this afternoon.

 

Your thoughts are so scattered that you don’t even bother trying to contribute, so you just nod along and agree to things. Though it seems to drag on forever, you’re out of your meeting by suppertime.

 

The plan is pretty simple. Riordan will seek out the darkspawn to discover their plans and movements, while the lords will gather what soldiers they can from their holdings. When Riordan returns, you will know where to find the Archdemon so you can finally end this blight.

 

Until then, you’ve got nothing to do but wait in the luxury of Eamon’s estate. Real beds, good food, and no nightly watch? It seems too good to be true.

 

After telling the party of your good fortune, you retire to your room with the two things you want at the moment—food and your fellow Warden. The two of you eat in silence, each processing the day’s events.

 

Once you finish eating, you lie in bed staring up at the ceiling, still working through all that has happened in the past few days. Your life will never be the same. You suppose there are some people who would be pleased at the idea of being king, but all you can see are the responsibilities that come with the title. All you ever wanted was a pretty girl, some good cheese, and something to swing your sword at. Was that too much to ask? This is far more than you bargained for.

 

Elissa comes to snuggle by your side, but you are less responsive than usual. “What is it?” she asks.

 

You are silent for a moment before you decide on your question. “Do you think Cailan was scared when he became king? Do you think he felt ready?” Your eyes stay on the ceiling, unable to look at her when you feel so vulnerable.

 

She reaches out to run her fingers through your hair. “Cailan had years of training that you don’t have,” Elissa reminds you, though it doesn’t make you feel much better. “He was raised always knowing he would be king and what would be expected of him, even though the timing of his ascendance was unexpected,” she explains. She pauses for a second before adding, “He had Anora.”

 

“And I have you,” you respond, but frown slightly. Everyone knows that Anora is the one who truly ruled. History could so easily repeat itself.

 

You feel her penetrating gaze. “I’m not going to rule for you, Alistair.” Your eyes snap to her, shocked by the vehemence of her words.

 

“I will teach you everything I know,” she says firmly, “and I will always be there to help you.” Her gaze never wavers. “But I won’t rule for you. I won’t be another Anora.”

 

You stare at her, finding it hard to believe her words in spite of her apparent resolve. Elissa likes to be in charge. That’s been obvious since day one of your journey. You’ve got a hard time imagining her turning that over to you for any reason, especially when she thinks she knows best. (And she usually thinks she does.)

 

She can see the doubt in your eyes, but she never wavers. “Cailan wasn’t half the king you’re going to be,” she whispers fiercely.

 

She really does believe in you.

 

Her expression softens into something that’s almost a smile. “It’s your heart and your principles that will make you into a good king. That’s your foundation. The rest will come.” Maker, you hope she’s right.

 

Elissa reaches for your hand and squeezes it. “You can do this, Alistair. And no matter what, you’ll never be alone.” And then she leans in to kiss you, with lips soft enough to make you melt. You can’t get enough of her, but eventually she pulls away, resting her head in the crook of your shoulder.

 

You’re both silent for a moment, thinking, and then you smile to yourself. “We’re going to get married,” you say wonderingly. It’s the best thing that’s come out of this crazy day, the only part of your situation that makes you unquestionably happy.

 

You glance towards her, smiling, and she blushes. “I suppose I should have waited for you to ask,” she says wryly.

 

You can’t help letting out a laugh at that. “Under the circumstances, I think I can forgive the breach of etiquette,” you tease.

 

She laughs with you, but her smile turns softer and a bit sad. “Mother would be so happy,” she says.

 

You hold her tighter in comfort, but your mind wanders. She’s reminded you of something she said earlier that day. You aren’t sure if this is the right time, but you need to ask. You don’t want this hanging over you. “Elissa,” you begin, trying to find the right words, “Is this really what you want?”

 

You feel her stiffen slightly in your arms. “What do you mean?”

 

It’s easier to make a joke of it. “I just need to know how many guards I’m going to have to post at the royal bedchamber to keep you from running back to Highever or off on some new adventure,” you say offhandedly. “Can’t lose the queen, you know. Bad form.”

 

Elissa just _looks_ at you, and it’s clear that she knows your meaning all too well. “You’re afraid I don’t want to marry you.”

 

You stare at her, tongue tied, afraid to hear her answer.

 

She sighs. “I’m giving up a lot to marry you,” she says quietly. “Mother and Father wanted the Cousland line to continue. I promised to get Highever back, to take care of it,” she tells you softly, the pain of the incident still obvious in her voice.

 

She stares off into space as she continues. “I’m losing my freedom and independence. The only home I’ve ever known. The day before Fergus left I told him I had no interest in marriage,” she said, her voice shaking slightly. “And I didn’t. There was nothing I loved more than my home and my freedom.”

 

Your heart aches so badly. You want her. You love her. But you never wanted this for her, to take her away from everything she loved and desired for herself.

 

And then Elissa finally turns to look at you. Your breath catches in your throat. “I love you,” she says, “but I was so sure that everything else mattered more. You had to be king, we had to save Ferelden. You needed to marry Anora,” she said quietly. “I would go back to Highever to fulfill my promises. Everything fell into place, or it seemed to. Even as much as it hurt.”

 

She takes a deep breath and looks down at her hands. “Until Loghain challenged you.” You look at her, confused, and wait.

 

Elissa bites her lip and looks back up to meet your gaze. “I was so afraid that you would die, Alistair,” she confesses, anguished. “Before I’ve always been able to fight beside you. Up there you were alone. Until that moment I thought I could walk away. I was wrong. I didn’t realize how much I loved you. When Anora walked out of the Landsmeet, I was glad!” She blinks hard, her eyes glassy. “I shouldn’t have been, but I was. I couldn’t let you go. I just couldn’t.”

 

She glances away again, clearly embarrassed by her emotional outburst. You can hardly breathe as you watch her.

 

“The truth is,” she says slowly, “you were what brought me out of the darkness that consumed me after my family was killed. I was running on rage and revenge, and didn’t want to feel anything. You broke through that. I… want to live now. I want to go on.”

 

“But in that moment, as I watched you face down Loghain, I realized that I don’t want to go on without _you_. I realized that being with you is more important to me than all the rest.” She looks up cautiously, unsure of her reception.

 

But she has no reason to worry. You pull her into a deep kiss, your heart full enough to burst. “I love you so much, Elissa,” you whisper into her ear. And she kisses back with a fervency that makes you believe every word she said.

 

…

 

Sleeping in is a luxury you’ve never been afforded before. Doing so in a warm bed with Elissa by your side is even better, too good to be true. Of course, darkspawn and politics are _not_ the stuff dreams are made of. But those things can wait until you rise. These little moments with your love are important too.

 

You have a late brunch with Eamon, and he updates you on what he learned while you were sleeping. Everything is going according to plan. The nobility is mustering what troops they can, Riordan is long gone to hunt for darkspawn, and Eamon has spoken to the Revered Mother about planning your coronation. He also tells you that Anora has been found.

 

Eamon asks you what you wish to do with her, and you glance at Elissa before remembering that this is supposed to be your decision.

 

“Um,” you begin (not very kingly of you), “Can’t we just leave her under house arrest for now?” You shrug. “We’ll deal with her after the blight.” Maker, you’ve really got to work on your presentation if you’re going to be king.

 

Thankfully, Eamon pretends not to notice your discomposure, and he goes to make sure it’s taken care of.

 

You turn to Elissa as soon as he’s gone. “Do you think I made the right decision?” you ask, and she gives you an exasperated look.

 

That look disappears as she tries to hide a smile. “You’re doing fine, Alistair,” she insists. “You don’t have to check with me on every decision you make,” she tells you.

 

You’re not used to that.

 

She smiles at your slightly bewildered expression and looks as if she’s going to say something else when the door opens and her attention is drawn away.

 

An elven servant stands in the doorway, looking uncertainly between the two of you. “A messenger just arrived for you, Sers,” she tells you. “He says it’s urgent.”

 

“Send him in,” Elissa responds immediately, her brow furrowing. Your expression mirrors hers, your mind running through a hundred possibilities of disasters and emergencies.

 

Within a few moments, the messenger stands in front of you, out of breath and looking nervous. “Darkspawn are on their way to Redcliffe!” he tells you, wide eyed. “The Grey Warden sent me to ask for soldiers, right away!”

 

It’s been less than a day since you instructed the nobility to gather troops, but you don’t have time to wait. You need to move quickly.

 

You turn to the messenger. “Find Arl Eamon and give him your message. Then bring him to me.” The man runs from the room.

 

Elissa is watching you, but you barely notice. There are too many things to think of. Is the Archdemon at Redcliffe, you wonder? Is this _it?_

 

The messenger returns with a harried Eamon. You don’t give him a chance to speak. “Our party will be heading for Redcliffe immediately,” you tell him. “We need to alert the nobility in case we have to send for them once we arrive.” You take a deep breath. “We’re also going to need to send messengers to the mages and Dalish elves to let them know what’s happening.”

 

“It will all be done, your Majesty,” Eamon responds deferentially as soon as you give him the opportunity to respond. “Teagan and I will also make for Redcliffe, once all the arrangements have been made.”

 

You give him a nod, and he leaves the room with the messenger. You turn to Elissa, who is looking at you strangely.

 

“What?” you ask anxiously. “Did I forget something?”

 

“No,” she says with a tiny shake of her head. She smiles slightly, a bit wistfully. “I’m just… watching you take charge, that’s all.”

 

You frown a bit, worried that she feels slighted, but she gives you a tremulous smile that bolsters your confidence. Maybe you won’t make such a bad leader after all.

 

…

 

You make for Redcliffe as quickly as you can.

 

You’re all exhausted when you arrive, but there is no rest for the weary. Even at your increased pace, you still don’t manage to beat the darkspawn to the village.

 

You cut your way through to the Chantry and assist the dwarven soldiers guarding the doors. This is a scene all too familiar to you, and undoubtedly to the scared masses inside the Chantry as well. The citizens of Redcliffe have been through more than their share of strife.

 

When the darkspawn numbers seem to thin out, you make your way towards the castle. You’ve seen no sign of the Archdemon.

 

When you reach the castle, a troll is terrorizing the courtyard. Leliana blinds it with a well-placed arrow, giving Elissa the opportunity to make the killing blow. Once the troll has been dispatched, the darkspawn numbers dwindle.

 

You take this opportunity to head inside the castle, to see if you can learn anything about this attack. Riordan takes one look at your party and insists that you rest until Eamon arrives, and you’re too tired to argue. The whole of your party takes up residence in the throne room, eating, napping, and simply sitting still for what seems like the first time in days.

 

When Eamon arrives, Riordan finally speaks. He doesn’t betray a single emotion as he reveals his disastrous news. “This is only a diversion,” he tells you. “The bulk of the horde is headed towards Denerim as we speak.”

 

A hundred different emotions flow through you. Anger, than he wasted the hours waiting for Eamon. Frustration, that you _just_ left Denerim and now have to head directly back. Worry, that your party can’t make that trip without rest. And most of all fear, a horrible deep-seated fear, of what could happen to Denerim if you don’t reach it in time.

 

“The Archdemon is at the head of the horde,” he states. You add exhilaration—the final battle approaches. This is coming to an end, one way or another.

 

Eamon is the first to collect his thoughts. “I’ll send a messenger to Denerim on horseback,” he says decisively. “To give them as much forewarning as possible.”

 

He glances between you and Elissa and finally settles his gaze upon you. “My men should be ready to march first thing tomorrow morning.”

 

You give him a slight nod as you process his words. “Then we march at dawn,” you affirm.

 

Eamon suddenly looks extraordinarily weary. “Maker help us,” he says, and sighs.

 

…

 

After being ushered by your host to your (separate) bedrooms, you and Elissa meet up to speak to Riordan. _Grey Warden business,_ he’d said. You and Elissa share a look, and she shrugs. You’ve got no idea what awaits you inside.

 

You thought you had known all the downsides to being a Grey Warden. You thought you knew all the damning little details, all the things that were kept secret. You were wrong.

 

 “Have you ever wondered why the Grey Wardens are needed to defeat the darkspawn?” Something about the way he says it puts a chill down your spine.

 

And the conversation only goes downhill from there.

 

As Riordan continues to speak, the dread within you feels heavier and heavier until it becomes a burden too great too bear. It can’t be what it sounds like. It just can’t.

 

It’s not fair.

 

When he pauses, you take a step forward. “So, the Grey Warden who kills the Archdemon… dies?” The last word comes out as only a whisper.

 

For the first time, you see what looks like sympathy in the older Warden’s eyes. “Yes. Without the Archdemon, the blight ends. It is the only way.” His voice is quiet. “I’m sorry.”

 

Elissa continues to speak with Riordan, but you’ve stopped listening. You’re filled with fury. At the Wardens, for bringing in recruits blind. At Duncan, for not telling you before he died. At the blight, at the Maker, at the whole damn world for this horrible situation.

 

You catch a few words here and there. Riordan offers to take the final blow, but you don’t take much comfort in it. This Warden, who spent more time imprisoned than fighting the blight since he arrived in Ferelden, is the only thing standing between the two of you and certain death. What if he dies in the coming battle? What if he simply… fails?

 

But in your heart, you already know the answer to that. You decided the instant you realized what he was telling you.

 

You’ll take the blow.

 

You won’t let Elissa do it. You can’t. The thought of losing her is too much. But a glance at the woman in question sends another wave of dread through you.

 

She’s thinking the same thing you are.

 

She’s already decided to take the final blow, to die for you. _You have to be king,_ she will say. _Think of Ferelden._

 

For all you care, Ferelden can burn.

 

…

 

Elissa doesn’t follow you to your room after the talk with Riordan. Maybe she can’t bear to see you when she knows that one of you may have to die. Maybe she doesn’t know what to say. You don’t.

 

You don’t even try to sleep.

 

You pace the room, sharpen your sword, shine your armor—anything to keep your mind off the morrow. A knock comes on the door, and you look up to see that Elissa has finally come. But something isn’t right—the way she’s standing, how she avoids your gaze. You know her too well. This is more than Riordan’s news, you’re sure of it.

 

When she approaches, you pull her close, setting her on your lap. She moves mechanically, making no protest, as if she is unaware of the world around her. You watch her worriedly, but she doesn’t meet your eyes.

 

After a long moment of silence, she finally looks up, speaking slowly and carefully. “What if I told you there was a way to avoid dying tomorrow?”

 

…

 

You should have fought harder against Morrigan’s deal.

 

The ritual is questionable at best—distasteful, dangerous, and just plain scary. Morrigan is just about the last woman in Thedas you’d ever want to sleep with, and that is the least of your worries. You don’t trust Morrigan not to poison your dinner, so why would you trust her with the reborn soul of an old god?

 

But you will. Your judgment is compromised.

 

The thought of losing Elissa is more than you can bear. She’s what’s kept you going since Duncan’s death. She’s taught you so much about life and about yourself. You’ve come to rely on her so much, love her so much, that the idea of losing her seems worse than death. If you do this, no one has to die. If you do this, Elissa is safe.

 

You keep trying to remind yourself of that as the ritual begins.

 

When Morrigan comes towards you on the bed, you try to swallow your revulsion. She blows out the candle, but even in the dark you can’t pretend she’s someone else. To your disgust, your body quickly betrays you under her practiced hands. The only bright side to your easy arousal is that the ritual is over swiftly.

 

When it is finished, she leaves you without a word. You immediately call for a chambermaid to draw a bath. You won’t leave the room until you’ve scrubbed away all traces of the witch from your body. If only the memories of this night could be scrubbed away as easily.

 

When you finally return to your own chamber, you find Elissa curled up on your bed, fast asleep. Still fully dressed, it’s obvious that she had been waiting up for you. You can’t imagine how awful it must have been for her to wait and worry, with nothing to distract her from the horrible act that you and Morrigan were performing all the while.

 

Elissa doesn’t stir as you undress her and gently pull the covers over her. When you finally join her in bed, you wrap your body around hers protectively. You love her so much more than you can say.

 

You tighten your grip on Elissa and kiss her hair before blowing out the candle. You’re going to need all the rest you can get, because tomorrow you fight for your kingdom.

 

…


	10. Chapter 10

When you reach Denerim, it’s already under siege.

 

There is little time to plan with darkspawn inside the city. Running in blind will do you no good, but people are dying while you discuss strategy. The strategy session is thankfully brief, but Elissa stops you before you can move towards the city gates.

 

“They’re looking to you for guidance,” she says, motioning to the gathered army. “You need to speak to them.”

 

“What?” You follow her gaze to the assembled crowd, seeing that what she says is true. They’re afraid, and they’re looking to you. You feel a flash of impatience and anger. Time is wasting and people are dying. You don’t have time for speeches.

 

But Elissa gives you a look, and you know she’s right. You have to speak to them, tell them… something. “What should I say?” you ask her, afraid. How did it come to this? So many people looking up to _you_?

 

“They need to believe we’re going to win this.” She glances towards the smoke rising in the distance, her voice going quiet. “No matter how bad it’s going to be.” Her sudden lack of confidence shakes yours, but you know she speaks the truth.

 

You take a deep breath, and move to stand in front of them. You aren’t sure how, and you don’t remember a word of it afterwards, but you manage to muster up a few inspirational words to get the men going. And finally, _finally_ , you enter the city.

 

…

 

Darkspawn swarm everywhere around you as you fight to control the city gates. There are so damn many of them. As soon you are kill one, two more seem to appear out of nowhere. Eventually the waves of darkspawn seem to lessen, and your control of the gates solidifies. No more get through. Once you’re certain the gates are secure, you and Elissa confer quietly with Riordan.

 

“There are two darkspawn generals in the city,” he tells you, “One in the market district and one in the Alienage.” You and Elissa exchange a look. The market district was likely evacuated, but you doubt you can say as much for the Alienage. Worse, the elves are forbidden from carrying weapons. They are defenseless.

 

Riordan suggests that heading straight for the Archdemon might be the best option, but you can’t stand the idea of all those people dying without any help. 

 

You compromise. Riordan will make for the Archdemon, in hopes that he can lure it to Fort Drakon for your joint attack. You and a small group will hunt down the generals, and everyone else will hold the gates, a crucial point. You don’t have time for a long deliberation, but you decide to take Wynne and Leliana with you, hoping that a healer and a ranged fighter will be useful once you reach the Archdemon. After your recent experience with Flemeth, you can’t say you look forward to fighting another dragon up close.

 

You say your goodbyes among the team. They’re afraid for you and for themselves. They’re angry at not being chosen. Some of them even reveal depth you never knew existed. Will you ever see that in them again? Will they be alive to show you? Will _you_ be alive to see it?

 

There are no answers, only more questions. You push them all aside, trying to focus on the one thing that matters—giving this battle everything you have.

 

…

 

You are set upon by ogres when you enter the market district. The Circle mages help to take then down with a dangerous dance of fire and ice. You have no choice but to trust them not to kill you with one of those attacks. And while you may occasionally get singed or chilled during the fight, they manage to do their job.

 

When the darkspawn numbers have thinned, you go after the general. Killing him is enough to scatter the remaining darkspawn, leaving the market district still and empty in the eerie light of fire.

 

The mages tend their wounds and regroup, and Elissa sends a messenger to bring a contingent of dwarven soldiers to meet you at the Alienage.

 

When you pass through the gate, things seem too quiet. The elves are all gathered fearfully around the tree at the center of the Alienage, and the darkspawn seem to be kept at bay by the far gate—a gate that won’t last much longer under their siege.

 

Elissa pushes you towards the platform where their leader stands and gives you a look that means that you’re going to need to make another speech. You stumble up the steps and turn to look at the sea of scared faces below you. Every one of those people is counting on you to save them today.

 

The fear that you suddenly feel is quelled by the sight of one more face below you. Elissa’s eyes are telling you that you can do this. You’re not just the child who slept in the stables. Not anymore.

 

You take a deep breath and speak. “Dwarven soldiers are on their way to defend the gates. We will hold them off. We will protect you,” you tell them firmly. “But we need you to return indoors for your own safety. Please.”

 

A fiery redhead pushes forward. Shianni, you recall, one of the elves you spoke to when you investigated the plague. “Shouldn’t we defend our own homes?” she demands, and a few others speak up in agreement.

 

Elissa comes up beside you, breaking her silence. “You should defend your homes and families by staying with them,” she tells them fiercely. “If any darkspawn break through our defense, those of you who are capable will be the only thing protecting your families,” she tells them firmly. There is a moment of still silence as you wait to see if they will comply. Only when their leader, Valendrian, speaks his agreement do the elves begin to head inside. Even Shianni relents. You give him a look of thanks, and he simply nods with those deep, wise eyes.

 

You move to the gates, trying to determine just how many darkspawn are on the other side. You can’t see the end of them. The dwarves arrive just in time—an ogre pushes through the crush of darkspawn to smash the gate.

 

Wave after wave of darkspawn assault you, the bodies piling up in the streets. You feel yourself tiring. You’ve marched all day and have been fighting ever since, but you must push through. The worst is yet to come. Bodies are piled high around you by the time the general finally reveals himself. When he’s been dealt with, you order the dwarves to block the gate with the darkspawn corpses, and go to check on the rest of the Alienage.

 

Before you go, Shianni runs up to you breathlessly. “Thank you,” she says, her voice full of wonder. “You saved us. Not many humans would have done that.” Her eyes are shining with gratitude.

 

You don’t know what to say. “You’re Ferelden citizens,” you tell her. “It’s my duty to protect you.”

 

She looks at you keenly, her sharp eyes examining your countenance. “You remember that,” she tells you before heading back to her family. In the haze that is this night of battle, she is one of the things you remember most clearly.

 

You move to leave for the palace district, but are stopped by a great roar from above.

 

The Archdemon soars through the air above you, breathing fire so hot you can feel it from where you stand. And suddenly, unexpectedly, you see it struggle. A rip forms in its wing. When you look more closely, you feel your stomach lurch.

 

A tiny figure hangs from the wing, and you know instinctively who it is. Riordan.

 

You are rooted to the spot as you watch him fall.

 

Your stomach churns, knowing the Grey Warden could not have survived the impact. You and Elissa are, once again, on your own. Something that has been true from the beginning is far more terrifying now that you know just how much you have to lose—succeed _or_ fail. The two of you share a look of fear, and you pray to the Maker that you will not die tonight.

 

The dragon flutters to the top of Fort Drakon on its mangled wing, a parting gift from Riordan, the last help he will ever give you. You know your quest, and you will complete it.

 

You give some final instructions to the dwarven soldiers, and head for Fort Drakon. It’s time to end this.

 

…

 

With the help of some Redcliffe soldiers, you cut a path through the palace district to Fort Drakon, which is no reprieve. The tower itself is teeming with darkspawn, the last line of defense for the dragon that sits atop it with its mangled wing.

 

By this time you are fighting your own exhaustion as much as the creatures in front of you. You marched all day and fought all night, and have yet to reach the Archdemon. A fear has settled within you that won’t abate. You try to remind yourself that this isn’t your first dragon fight, but that isn’t much comfort. The Archdemon isn’t just any dragon.

 

There is nothing unusual within Fort Drakon—well, not unusual to you. You’ve been fighting darkspawn for months now. But the unintelligible words of the Archdemon are worming their way into your mind, hissing at the back of your consciousness. As you get closer, his voice gets louder, orders in a tongue you don’t understand. You wish Riordan were still here.

 

There is a short reprieve just before you reach the top. Many of the soldiers of your collected armies meet you, and the mages do their best to patch everyone up. You go to see Wynne, allowing her to heal all the cuts and wounds you’ve accumulated on your way here.

 

Every one of you will need all your strength in the coming fight.

 

…

 

Deafening screams claw at your ears and mind. It towers above you, breathing enchanted fire and looking at you like it _knows_ … and it probably does. Another unintelligible order, and darkspawn start running straight for you and Elissa. You’re the target. You should have realized this would happen.

 

You are beset from all sides, forced to defend yourself instead of attack the dragon. Elissa calls out what orders she can, but you are both forced to focus on the attacks that keep coming in quick succession. A contingent of soldiers holds the doors. No more darkspawn will break through to this rooftop. Some soldiers are directed to ballistas, focusing their energy on the Archdemon, weakening it for your final attack. Other soldiers attempt to defend them—and thin the numbers out for you.

 

You and Elissa fight like dancing. You feel almost as if you know how she is going to move before she does. In the months you’ve fought together, you’ve become perfectly in tune with one another. You have her back and she has yours, and though the danger comes from all sides, you somehow find yourself unafraid. No darkspawn is going to kill you tonight. Not when you have an Archdemon to kill.

 

Perhaps this euphoria is a result of the complete and utter exhaustion you feel. You don’t care. If it gets you through this, the reason doesn’t matter. All that matters is finishing this. _And getting Elissa out alive,_ a small voice inside you says. You try to ignore it. She _will_ get out alive. She must.

 

At some point, it’s hard to say how long, you realize that the darkspawn are thinning out. The soldiers at the door have done their job. When you have a moment to catch your breath, you glance at Elissa. She nods towards the dragon, and you know her intention. You turn towards the Archdemon, sword in hand.

 

Blinding, burning fire engulfs you again and again. The cooling touch of healing magic follows, just enough to keep you going. You’ve never been in this much pain. This is not like the battles you’ve fought before. Dragon-fighting strategy is like no other. There is no parry, no defense, when a beast the size of a building swipes its claws at you. You barely dodge those claws over and over, trying to get a few attacks in edgewise. You stab and beat against the beast for what seems like an eternity. There is no end to it. Those screams are inside your head still, with no way to block them out. When you hurt the Archdemon, it hurts you as well.

 

The healing waves have become fewer and further between. The fight has no beginning and no end. There is nothing but the swing of your sword and the screams within your mind. You are bruised, burned, and bloodied, but you hardly notice. Every muscle screams for release, but there is none. There is only the dragon.

 

The enchanted fire hits you again, and there is no wave of healing magic this time. You wonder how long you can go on, and suddenly, the worst happens. Elissa is caught by one of those long talons. The dragon hurls her far from you, and when she lands, a red stain spreads through the deep gash in her armor.

 

It had only been a matter of time, you realize.

 

You have to get to her. The Archdemon stands between you, so you assail it with a new strength, not thinking, just attacking. You have to get to her.

 

For the first time, it seems like you might win. You wedge your sword under the Archdemon’s scales, and it cries out in pain. Though its screams also pound through your mind, it gives you satisfaction. You’ve always hated the Archdemon, but you’ve never _hated_ like this before. It hurt her. You want it to feel pain.

 

Elissa pulls herself up and begins limping towards you, blood still dripping from her armor. You stop and stare. In that moment of distraction, the beast has the upper hand, and you are swept away by its tail. You slam down hard onto the rooftop, sliding a distance away.

 

When you look up, Elissa is heading straight for the Archdemon. She doesn’t hear your cries to stop. You watch, frozen, as she slashes its throat at a lopsided run, and leaps up on top of the dragon, ignoring the pain from her injuries.

 

She stabs the Archdemon through the heart with all of her strength, and something strange happens.

 

A light begins to emanate from all around the fatal wound, and Elissa fights to free her sword from the dragon. As you scramble to stand, you see that light shooting up into the clouds and realize that it’s dawn.

 

As she struggles, you move to help her, but Leliana pulls you back. “It’s too dangerous,” she cries, but all you can think is that Elissa could die. You break from her grip to run, but as you do, the dragon explodes in a mass of light, blinding you and throwing you back with a powerful force.

 

The Archdemon has been destroyed.

 

…


	11. Chapter 11

You pace back and forth in front of the door, Elissa’s Mabari on your heels. Everyone is here, except for Morrigan, who has disappeared, and Wynne, who is in with Elissa. Most everyone looks worried, battered, and exhausted except Sten, who looks just as sullen as always. He stands as if guarding the hallway, which might be endearing if he wasn’t an angry giant.

 

Wynne opens the door and you move to enter. She holds up her hands, blocking the way. “I’ve done what I can for her. She’s sleeping now. Don’t wake her,” she warns, and her eyes meet yours. “You need to get some sleep yourself, Alistair. But first, I want to check your wounds.”

 

You move away as she reaches for your arm. “I’m fine,” you insist. “One of the Circle mages checked me over.”

 

She raises an eyebrow. “And left you with that gash?” she says, nodding towards a particularly nasty cut on your leg. “I don’t think so.” She drags you into the room across the hall despite your protests.

 

She’s busy healing your leg when you hear something, almost like a dull roar. “What is that?” you ask, and she looks up. “It’s coming from outside.”

 

Once she finishes on your leg, she allows you to go to the window to check. When you peek out, you see that a mob has gathered below. “Maker’s breath!” you exclaim, ducking your head back inside the window. “Is there some kind of riot going on?”

 

Wynne takes a glimpse for herself, and she looks like she’s trying to smother a smile when she turns to you. “I believe,” she says, amusement in her voice, “that your adoring public is here to see you.”

 

Your eyes widen, and you take another peek out the window, pulling back inside before they see you. Wynne laughs, and motions for you to sit down again. “I’ll make sure someone tells them you won’t be out to greet them today,” and her voice has taken on that mothering tone that you rarely disobey. “I’m sending you to bed as soon as I get finished patching you up,” she tells you.

 

When she sees that stubborn look in your eye, she lets out a sigh. “I suppose the only way I’m going to get you to rest is if I let you into Elissa’s room?” She knows you too well to need an answer. “You can stay with her, but if you wake her up you’re going to be in a lot of trouble!” she threatens.

 

You can’t help but smile at the old woman ordering you around. You don’t have to obey her, but somehow you always do. “I won’t disturb her,” you promise, and she appears satisfied.

 

“All finished. You’re free to go,” Wynne tells you.

 

You take a keen look at Wynne, then, noticing how exhausted the older woman looks. “You get some sleep too,” you order, and she gives you a tired smile.

 

“As you wish, Your Majesty.” She laughs, and you roll your eyes.

 

As Wynne heads down the hallway, you step into Elissa’s room.

 

After the Archdemon’s blinding explosion, you hadn’t known whether she was alive or dead. It was the most agonizing moment of your life. She was limp as you carried her body inside, Wynne hurriedly directing you to a bedroom. The mage had announced that Elissa was alive and then promptly shoved you out of the room.

 

Now that you can see her for yourself, you look her over carefully, relieved to watch the rise and fall of her chest. You feared you would never see it again.

 

You climb into bed beside her, feeling the adrenaline wear off and exhaustion set in. You don’t want to fall asleep. You want to be up when Elissa wakes.

 

As your lids get heavier and heavier, you know you are fighting a losing battle, and eventually you succumb to exhaustion.

 

…

 

You wake disoriented, not knowing where you are until you see Elissa smiling down at you. She is sitting up in bed with a bowl of soup, looking worse for the wear but most definitely alive.

 

Her eyes are shining, luminous, and you can’t help but return her smile. You’ve won. You’ve survived.

 

“Wynne will want to know you’re awake,” she says, but you grab her hand before she can get up.

 

“You aren’t going anywhere,” you command. “Did Wynne say you can get out of bed?” Elissa rolls her eyes at you.

 

“I’m fine,” she protests, but she doesn’t get up. “Here,” she says, handing you your own bowl of soup from the bedside table. “Wynne left this for you, though it’s probably cold by now.”

 

You sit up and take it from her, and the two of you eat in silence. So much has happened that it’s difficult to comprehend it all. When you finish your soup, you reach over to draw her close to you. It means everything to feel her body against yours again, but she shrinks away.

 

“What is it?” you ask, concerned. She doesn’t meet your eyes as she slowly unlaces the top of her shift. An angry red scar reaches down from her collarbone to disappear under the fabric of her nightdress.

 

With careful hands, you lift the shift over her head, and she doesn’t resist you. The gash stretches all the way down across her stomach to her hip, and you shudder to remember how it happened to her. In that moment, you thought the beast had killed her.

 

“Does it hurt?” you ask, and she shakes her head.

 

“No… well, not much,” she amends. “Wynne’s been pouring healing potions down my throat every few hours,” she admits.

                                                                                      

You touch it gingerly, and when she doesn’t wince or cry out, you trace it down her body. When you look up, she glances away, avoiding your eyes.

 

“I never thought I was vain, but…” She trails off with a hollow laugh.

 

You feel a combination of anger and sadness come over you, and you cup her cheek with a hand. “Look at me,” you tell her, and she meets your eyes. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.” You begin to trace her scar again. “You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met,” you continue as you finger slowly follows the jagged path towards her hip. “You killed an Archdemon. You survived what no one else in history has. Ever.”

 

You look up to meet her eyes, willing her to believe every word you say. “This scar only reminds me of how amazing you are.”

 

You can see she’s fighting back tears as she pulls you in for a kiss. You wrap your arms around her protectively, and never want to let go. When your lips part, you are inches from one another. “Don’t ever think you aren’t beautiful,” you tell her fiercely.

 

After a moment, you loosen your grip on her. “So…” you begin in a lighter tone, “Has Wynne said anything about when you’ll be well enough for… you know.”

 

She grins and pulls you close. “Screw what Wynne says,” she whispers before joining her lips with yours once again.

 

…

 

You know before she does that her brother has been found. There’s going to be a ceremony to honor her, and you and Fergus contrive to keep the secret from her until then as a surprise. You have to laugh when you see her jump on him in excitement, forgetting that she’s still in her plate armor.

 

As you observe them, you notice her falling into what must be old habits, a sibling relationship that has been put on hold for far too long. Even so, you can see that Fergus can hardly believe the changes in his sister in the past year. You hope that he can handle going back home without her.

 

Though you try not to be, you are a little jealous when she spends so much time with her brother. But all of those feelings wash away when she turns that brilliant smile of hers upon you, whispering in your ear to meet her upstairs.

 

When you are alone, her body curves into yours, a perfect fit. After you make love, the two of you lay together in contented silence.

 

“I can’t believe it’s all over,” you muse, and she turns to look at you.

 

Her eyes sparkle. “Over?” The laugh bubbles out of her. “This is only the beginning.” She grins at you, and you realize just how right she is.

 

You can see your life stretching out before you, and though you know there will be strife, there will also be joy. That’s one thing you can be sure of, thanks to the woman who will share this life with you.

 

When Duncan first recruited this girl, you were furious that he chose her, angry that he could bear to curse her with this taint that now burdens you both. But now, in spite of everything, you wish more than ever that you could show him your gratitude. She means everything to you, and you want to thank him for bringing her into your life.

 

You send your prayer upwards, hoping that somehow your words will find him.

 

_Duncan, wherever you are, thank you._

 

…

 

_In war, victory._

_In peace, vigilance._

_In death, sacrifice._

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you liked this, I'll soon be posting a one-shot featuring the same characters called "A Fate Worse Than Darkspawn".


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